The Wizard in the Shadows
by Nimbus Llewelyn
Summary: After the Second Wizarding War, Harry goes to Middle Earth for a little R&R away from it all. He was told it was peaceful. He was wrong. He then spends four years fighting in the North. When the Ring is discovered, a war for the sake of two worlds begins with Harry at it's centre. I own neither LOTR or Harry Potter and would be a good deal richer if I did. THE SEQUEL IS NOW UP.
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

**A/N: I own nothing save some of the plot. Revamped (twice) since it was written 2 and a half years ago, and doubled in length. I may do the same to later chapters, if and when I have time.**

It all started as the Hobbit's and Strider left Bree. At first only Strider noticed it, though he held his peace. No need to give the Hobbits further cause for worry, he reasoned. While he knew perfectly well who it was and that he was in fact perfectly harmless if you didn't happen to be a creature of darkness, he was rather intimidating. Less than a day after, Frodo noticed it, and quietly asked what it was. Strider replied, for the benefit of all 4 hobbits,

"It is not a foe, but a much valued friend. He just keeps his own counsel much of the time, and truly though I have noticed his presence out in the wilds many times before and spoken with him 3 years ago when he first arrived in Arda, but I know little enough about him. He spends most of his time wandering or oftimes I have seen him speaking Gandalf, Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. He is a man of few words these days. Once, he spoke more, much more, but his hunt for darkness has made him a more reserved man."

"What sort of a man is he?" Pippin piped up.

"He is a wizard, younger than any of you in years, though Gandalf has hinted that he is a veteran of a terrible war, and has come here to heal, something borne out by what he has said."

Merry looked perplexed and asked, "What wounds take three years to heal?"

"Wounds of the heart. And of the soul." Was Striders cryptic reply.

The Hobbits collectively jumped out of their skins as they heard an eerie, and somehow bitter chuckling noise in the forest on their left.

"W-W-What was that?" Pippin trembled.

"I think we said something that amused him." Strider said dryly as they marched onwards to Weathertop.

On their way to Weathertop, Strider told them that the wizard's name was Harry Potter, and he was one of the few beings the Ringwraiths had learnt to fear. That night, the hobbits decided to cook some dinner, reaching for some familiarity in the insane situation. At least until Frodo put it out and the night was torn apart by the unearthly screeches of the Nazgul. The Hobbits retreated to the top of Weathertop and drew their short swords. They stood no chance, brave as they were. Tossed aside, all they could do was watch the five Nazgul advance on Frodo.

As Frodo was stabbed and Strider began to fight the Ringwraiths with blade and flame, an unearthly apparition in the form of a silver glowing stag charged the Ringwraiths, scattering them. They desperately attempted to avoid the apparition, followed by its master, Harry Potter, the dark hunter who had long since been dubbed 'The Wizard in the Shadows'. He was dressed much like Aragorn, down to the long coat, but all in black and holding what appeared to be a small stick. His green eyes burned with anger and as Frodo saw him through in the world of the unseen, he saw a bright figure of white flame with green flames for eyes, whose brightness caused the wraiths to shy away.

Any doubts about the effectiveness of the stick as a weapon were dispelled when he pointed it at one of the Ringwraiths and uttered something in a strange language. Before he had arrived it had never been heard in the lands of Middle Earth. But like many things changed when Harry Potter was present. Such as the odds. The words caused a massive fireball to issue from the stick's tip, setting the nearest hapless Ringwraith alight. It shrieked and fled from its enemy, who turned on the others, directing his silver stag to herd them away.

Strider hurled his flaming brand into the face of the lasts hood, causing to shriek and follow its fellows in fleeing. After making sure all the Ringwraiths were dealt with, Harry knelt down and examined Frodo's wound.

"He needs Athelas," he said abruptly in a voice that rasped somewhat due to lack of use.

Strider also examined Frodo and nodded his agreement, then the hobbits gasped as Harry flicked his wand and a stretcher appeared under Frodo and floated to waist height.

"Cover our retreat," Strider said quietly. Harry nodded and slipped to the back with casual grace. They moved as quickly as they could, and not long after they descended the ancient watchtower, a Ringwraith screeched behind them. Harry abruptly melted into the forest provoking a startled but thankfully muffled cry from Pippin. He was not used to being in the company of one such as Strider, let alone their mysterious black clothed defender. The Ringwraith screeched again, this time more shrilly, and a flickering firelight could be seen through the trees, and the creature shrieked in distress. The firelight quickly moved away.

The wizard reappeared, smiling grimly. "That was Khamul," he said quietly. "The second. The Witch King himself is here." Looking at Strider, he said, "Why?"

"Not now," Strider said. Harry narrowed his eyes, and Strider shook his head.

Eventually, Strider set Frodo down. Harry started a fire with a casual flick of his wand, then disappeared with a crack.

"What is he?" Pippin asked, in hushed awe.

"He is a wizard," Strider said. "Not quite like Gandalf, but similar. His power is more obvious and more easily wielded. He is young, younger than any of you. And he is very powerful." There was the by now familiar startled shriek of a waylaid Ringwraith. "Be very glad that he is on our side."

Pippin looked off into the shadows nervously.

"People in the Prancing Pony were telling stories about him," Merry said in a low voice. "They say he hunts dark creatures. And kills them. And that he kills people as well. That he can kill you as easily with his knife as he can with his magic." Remembering Weathertop, he added, "and he seems to do _that _very easily."

"People fear his power," Strider said. "He kills orcs and the like without remorse, but I have only very rarely seen him kill something that is not Darkspawn. And that is only when there is no alternative. As for the knife work, he is the best knife wielder among mortals."

"They said that he was mad," Pippin said quietly. "Is he mad? Do you trust him?"

"I trust him with my life," Strider said. The hobbits noted that he avoided the question of madness. "Sam, I need you to find some Athelas – Kingsfoil," he said urgently.

"That's a weed," Sam said.

"It will slow the effects of the poison," Strider explained, going off to find some. "Merry, Pippin boil some water."

Harry returned with a crack, and moved to stand by Frodo.

"What are you doing?" Merry asked suspiciously. He shivered as the green eyed gaze turned to him.

Harry smiled a small smile. "Looking for trouble," he said softly, leaning back and relaxing against a tree. After that, he said nothing, eyes scanning the shadows. One hand held the stick that had already done so much damage, while the other held a well-used and well maintained elvish long knife. Merry got the feeling that despite his relaxed position, if he wanted to, Harry could move to attack in the blink of an eye.

When Glorfindel arrived, Aragorn in tow, he arched an eyebrow and said, "Hunting wraiths again, Black Wizard? The twins have missed riding in errantry with you. They say it is more exciting when you come along."

Harry nodded, and said voice still a little raspy, "I figured something was odd. I saw Aragorn walking towards Rivendell with four hobbits. Hobbits rarely go further than Bree. I felt the presence of five the Nine, the Witch King among them. I decided to shadow them." He smiled slightly. "Maybe some other time. Now, I work alone."

"And it is fortunate that you did. I could have driven them off alone, but it would have taken rather longer," Aragorn replied. "Time we do not have."

"Can you not apparate him to Rivendell?" Glorfindel inquired.

Harry shook his head, "The shard. The Witch King is too close. His power interferes with mine." After that, he lapsed into a watchful silence.

They continued towards Rivendell, Glorfindel eventually sending Frodo on his horse as the wraiths threatened to overtake them. As Frodo led them to the river, the rest followed, boxing the wraiths in between them and the river.

"What is that phrase you used to love?" Glorfindel asked.

Harry's face flickered in a small smile, drawing his wand and solemnly saluting Glorfindel. "Showtime."

Then, Glorfindel began to glow with an inner light that shone in both the Seen and the Unseen worlds. The Wraiths shied away. Then Harry unleashed hell, in the form of an enormous stream of silvery-blue flame, which made the Wraiths flee into the river. That was their mistake.

"They're going to get Mister Frodo!" Sam gasped.

Then the river was filled by a surge of water that swept the Wraith's and the horses away. The surge of water took the form of horses.

"Or not," Merry said.

Aragorn looked at Harry. "Do I detect your touch in the horses?"

Harry shook his head. "Gandalf," he said.

As the hobbits crossed the river, they mulled over the incident. It cemented a certain wariness towards Harry. Elves they expected to be odd and otherworldly. Apparently ordinary looking young men? Not so much.

The elf on guard smiled in greeting when he saw the motley company, though his expression changed to one of concern when he saw Frodo.

Harry glanced down at Frodo, and then looked at Aragorn and Glorfindel as if asking permission for something. "It is close enough. He has not the strength oppose me here. Not after what just happened." They both nodded after a moment. The Hobbits understandably yelped as Harry and Frodo disappeared with a loud crack.

"Where's he taken Mr Frodo?" Sam demanded angrily.

"Peace, Sam. He has only taken Frodo to Lord Elrond for healing, by a wizard's spell. It transports instantly, though it does feel rather unpleasant," Strider said quietly, shuddering. "The time saved may be Frodo's salvation."

"I've never seen Gandalf do anything like that," Merry said doubtfully.

"Master Potter is a very different breed of wizard to Gandalf, Master Hobbit," Glorfindel said as they made their way to Rivendell. "His talents and his reputation may yet save us all."

**Well? What do you think? Good, bad, or ugly?**


	2. Chapter 2: At Rivendell

**A/N: The first chapter was something of a teaser and rather disjointed, so not brilliant but I hope most of the issues raised by various reviewers are addressed here. Enjoy! **

**I own nothing which is recognisable.**

**Review reply to** **Sup I like your story btw and others**, I understand your concerns, and the reason he has their trust is an incident involving a large amount of orcs, and Aragorn needing his life saved. Also Galadriel can see inside his head (she is the equivalent of an extremely powerful and skilled legilimens) and Harry isn't much good at defensive mental magic, though he is not pleased when she pokes around in his head. Not pleased at all. Aragorn and Harry himself, possibly Galadriel, Gandalf or Elrond might say a bit more. I will use a flashback, but only because Harry has not yet opened up about how he got to Arda and Galadriel is a) not around, b) keeping quiet at Harry's request. Elrond does know a little, though not the specifics, so he is going to mention so of what he knows.

Sam paced anxiously up and down the corridor outside the infirmary in Rivendell, while Pippin, getting his priorities firmly in order, was happily eating a couple of meat pies. Merry looked anxious but was nevertheless munching on an apple. They all looked up when the main doors opened, revealing none other than Harry Potter, who strode across to the hobbits, and said, "Frodo's condition is stable and he will be fine, but he is still very weak. The poison spread through most of his body, and if he had got to Lord Elrond much later, he would be dead." His voice had lost its raspy tone, Sam and Merry noticed, Pippin enjoying the cooking of Rivendell far too much to notice anything save the message itself.

"See, Sam, I told you he would be alright." Said Pippin, in a (albeit muffled by crumbs) tone of one condescendingly imparting wisdom to another, showering Merry in crumbs, for which the older hobbit gave him an ugly glare which was ignored. The hobbits soon began to bicker cheerfully while Harry sat in the corner, eating a pork pie which had previously been a small stone. Hunting orcs with Aragorn and the consequent lack of food had improved his Transfiguration skills exponentially. Aragorn had been very surprised when Harry had produced a small chicken from a medium sized stone, and Harry never could be bothered to go to the kitchens, especially not after his visit to the Hogwarts kitchens with Ron and Hermione. Dobby had been so happy to see him, he remembered sadly. He was one of many loyal friends who lay dead on his behalf and as he thought of Dobby, his mind went back to when he first came to Middle earth 4 years ago.

He had defeated Voldemort a month ago and still the magical world was counting the cost of Voldemort's reign of terror. He had been badgered continuously by fans wanting autographs , journalists wanting exclusives (he had put the invisibility cloak to good use in avoiding Rita Skeeter, reasoning that hexing her was probably a step too far) and the odd Death Eater who wanted to take a piece out of the Dark Lords killer. On balance Harry thought he preferred the Death Eaters at least he could jinx them with a clear conscience. One day he made his choice. He would have to leave, if only to escape those who wanted to worship him and those who wanted to kill him.

Also, the deaths were just beginning to hit him. Colin Creevey, sneaking back into the castle to fight alongside his friends when he could have been evacuated away to safety, Remus Lupin, the last of the Marauders and Harry's friend. Tonks, cheerful, kind Tonks, who died trying to avenge her cousin, leaving a newborn son behind. It would be hard for him to leave those who survived behind to fend for themselves, but they would be fine and they would understand he reckoned. He scribbled a note, saying he was going away for a while. Then he walked up to Professor McGonagall's office, to take up a suggestion that Dumbledore's portrait had made in the aftermath of the final battle. They suggestion had been to go to another world, one where no one knew him and clamoured for his autograph. Though he had considered it farfetched at the time, but now he thought it made sense. Certainly, it made more sense than suggestions of Death Eater sympathisers to top himself.

As he reached the door to the Headmistresses office with his packed trunk floating along behind him, he hesitated next to the still unrepaired and occasionally groaning gargoyle. Could he really leave his best friends, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny whom he loved deeply and truly. He stopped, thinking of their dismay when they found he was gone. He mulled it over, then stepped inside, and as he went up the staircase reasoned that he would not be gone for long.

Maybe a few months, just some rest and recuperation. Dumbledore's portrait had said this world was relatively quiet with a few minor hiccups. How bad could it be? Harry wondered. After all, I've just fought a war. It can hardly be worse. He strode into McGonagall's office. Unsurprisingly she had yet to put her definitive stamp on it, with the last resident being Severus Snape, who presumably had had a fair bit of dark stuff, if only to keep up appearances. He crossed to the fireplace and glanced at the floo powder, relieved to see it was still there, and turned to face Dumbledore's portrait.

"Right, I'm here and I'm packed. What do I do next?" Harry said, waiting impatiently.

"Take some of the floo powder, throw it into the fire and say 'Bree' as you step in. The world is known as Arda or Middle Earth, but Bree is a quiet town and a good place to stay. The world is very old fashioned and has only 3* known active wizards, so many treat magic with suspicion. Good luck." Dumbledore's portrait said, eyes twinkling as ever, though his tone held a hint of warning.

Harry nodded and complied with Dumbledore's instructions. When he came out the other end, he was in a damp forest with the lights of medieval style town in the distance. Good thing I brought my broom, he thought dryly. Then he froze as the cold metal of a sword touched his throat. Rest and Recuperation my arse, he thought. Thank you so much Dumbledore.

Harry was jolted out of his reverie by one of the miscellaneous elves who served Lord Elrond, a young male elf with the pained expression of one who had been subjected to third degree pestering by Hobbits, three of whom were sitting with expectant and determined expressions. Harry had worked out what was required of him before the elf, who had little experience of mortals, particularly powerful wizards, asked timidly, "My lord, would you please go in and check on Master Baggins' condition? For I am not allowed to go in to check and the young masters," at this point he indicated the hobbits, "are most interested in their friend's welfare."

Harry stretched and stood up, saying, "Very well. I probably should have done so before." As he turned to go through, Pippin piped up anxiously, "Afterwards could you help us find Strider?"

"Hush Pip, he's a wizard and they are always busy. He's doing us a favour by going to look at Frodo." Merry scolded him

"Well he was half asleep Merry." Pippin retorted, then glanced up to see if his remark had offended Harry. It clearly hadn't as the wizard in question was shaking his head and smiling in an indulgent manner.

"I will help you find Strider, don't worry. Now I believe I was meant to be going to check on Frodo." Harry said in an amused tone. Pippin flushed and nodded.

Harry strode through the doors to the healing wing shaking his head in amusement. Hobbits were one of the things that made Middle Earth so wonderful, and eased his residual homesickness.

He knocked on the door to the room in which Elrond was tending Frodo. An elf opened the door, and Elrond, looked up, then continued cleaning the wound.

"How is he?" Harry whispered, Frodo being asleep.

"He is still sick, but improving. I have removed the piece of the morgul blade lodged in his shoulder, and rid the wound of its residual poison." Elrond whispered briskly as he reached for bandages. "All he needs is rest and time to heal. Much like you did when you first came, though your wounds were more to your heart than your body." Elrond said to the young man who inclined his head in agreement. "I am guessing that the Hobbits pressed you into checking on Master Baggins'?"

"They did, after pestering one of your servants. Only once he assured them that he was not able to visit did they turn on me. I was of course happy to help." Harry said wryly.

"Have you worked a way to return to your homeland yet?" Elrond asked abruptly.

Harry ran his hands through his hair in much the same way as his father had done, "No, not yet, though I suspect Gandalf may have an idea as does Lady Galadriel, but neither of them are saying anything if they do know." He said, ever so slightly agonised.

Elrond put his hand on Harry's shoulder in a comforting manner. He knew what it was like to be far from loved ones, though at least he could be certain of seeing his lovely Celebrian in Valinor, whereas poor Harry was not necessarily ever going to return. Every moment Harry spent in Middle Earth was a moment spent away from his friends who needed him. Elrond remembered one highly memorable evening in which both Harry and Aragorn had got drunk and reached the melancholy stage. Harry had said he had only meant to leave for a few months and lamented that he had probably 'been declared dead'. This was not a term Elrond was familiar with, though he gathered it was part of the dialect of Harry's home.

*The blue wizards are barely mentioned in the Middle earth legendarium and are as such not involved in this tale.


	3. Chapter 3: The Council of Elrond

**A/N: Some lines are lifted from the Fellowship of the Ring film. I own neither Harry nor the Lotr franchise. As recompense for a long absence, here is a very long chapter.**

It was the day of the council, and the great leaders of the free peoples of Middle Earth had gathered, or at least sent representatives to Elrond's council. Harry looked around, and nodded politely to those who he knew, Legolas and a couple of elves with whom he had a very slight acquaintance. He was sitting next to Gandalf and Frodo, who still looked rather the worse for wear, having been discharged from the medical area only a couple of days ago, with Bilbo sitting nearby. Harry's face creased itself into a smile, as he remembered his first meeting with the old hobbit.

They had got along well enough initially, especially when Harry proved to be a good listener to Bilbo's tales, one of which had been interrupted by Pippin bringing afternoon tea, or more accurately, chivvying along a remarkably forbearing elf carrying afternoon tea.

Then Pippin had asked, "Can you show me some of your magic Harry?" in a pleading tone that was hard to resist. Unfortunately for Pippin, Harry had been turning over part of Bilbo's tale in his head and had absently said, "Yeah, sure Pip." And waved his wand to perform the aguamenti charm, however, as he was not concentrating and his wand was aimed in Pippins general direction, instead of a gentle fountain, a powerful blast of water hit the surprised hobbit who was sent flying.

Harry had hastily stopped the spell and run over to check on Pippin, while Bilbo had laughed his head off. Pippin had, needless to say been slightly upset, but had been placated by a hastily conjured chicken sandwich.

He pulled himself out of his happy reverie to here a slight rustling noise in the bushes behind him. He quickly performed a super sensory charm, and heard the breathing of 3 hobbits. He grinned to himself. Let them stay, he thought, they will provide entertainment soon enough.

As Elrond began his long explanation of the origins of the one ring, Harry, having heard it soon after his arrival in Middle Earth, automatically tuned it out while scanning various people's faces. Many were studiedly impassive, or curious, but the large man on the far left of the semi circle of seats was listening intently, though judging from the look on his face, didn't understand very much. Harry narrowed his eyes, as he recognised this man. Ah yes, Boromir of Gondor. Elrond had mentioned him earlier. Just after he had explained his intentions for Harry. And the reasons behind them.

When Elrond got to the end of his speech, Boromir said, his voice in enraptured tones, his eyes burning with ambition and hatred, almost as if he was repulsed by his own feelings.

"It is a gift...a gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Aragorn made to get up but Harry was faster. "The ring accepts no master other than he who made it. You would doom us all if you tried to use it to fight him." Harry said calmly and matter of factly.

Aragorn added, "Harry is right. You cannot wield it. None of us can."

"What would a mere ranger and a boy know of this matter?" Boromir asked dismissively, causing Harry to bristle with indignation. He did not take well to being called, 'boy'. The last person unwise enough to do so had found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. However Harry doubted that such tactics would make him very popular, friend of Gandalf or not, so he held his tongue and his spells.

Legolas stood up and said "This is no mere ranger. This is Aragorn son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

As Boromir looked shocked, Gandalf continued, "And this is Harry, a wizard sent from far away by the Valar to help us."

Harry inclined his head to the shell shocked Boromir with a faint grin. Gandalf's faint embellishment of the reasons he was in Middle Earth had produced an amusing effect. Shocking authority figures, particularly arrogant ones, was an amusement that never got old, no matter what world he was in. Boromir regained his haughty facade and muttered defiantly, "Gondor has no King. Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right, we cannot use it." Gandalf interjected firmly.

Harry noted wryly that he had not been considered important enough to warrant a comeback from Boromir. That would change in a bit. The ring was just like a horcrux, he mused, though one with the added ability to make people invisible, and it was a bit more subtle. And much harder to destroy, because he doubted that the sword of Elendil, impressive as it was would be able to destroy the ring like the sword of Gryffindor. Just then, Elrond said what he guessed had been coming.

"You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed." Elrond said.

"Then what are we waiting for?" one of the younger dwarfs growled. Before anyone could stop him, he had picked up an axe, stepped towards the ring and swung the axe in a perfect curve straight onto the ring, whereupon the axe shattered and its owner was thrown onto his back.

"The ring cannot be destroyed by any craft we here possess, Gimli son of Gloin." Elrond said gently to the surprised dwarf. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

Harry smiled wryly as there was a distinct lack of volunteers standing forth to take hold of the most dangerous artefact in Middle Earth, many eyeing it with suspicion. Once, he would have stepped forward himself, however this time someone else had to be the hero. Stealing a glance at Frodo, he reckoned he could guess who it would be. Just about.

Finally Boromir broke the silence. "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs." He paused for a beat. "There is evil there that does not sleep and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust...the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It

is folly."

"You may not have noticed, but we do not have 10,000 men. Besides, armies are hard to hide, especially from one such as Sauron." Harry observed quietly. That should send them down the right track, he thought, satisfied. Or not, he sighed inwardly, as Legolas sharply rebuked Boromir, which provoked Gimli, starting a shouting match in which everyone save the hobbits, at first Gandalf and Elrond and Harry himself.

He waited a few moments, then said, "_Sonorus_". Then he said, "Be quiet! This arguing helps no one." in stern tones, that achieved an immediate effect. Many of them looked at him as if he had just grown horns. Harry paid their expressions no mind, as he had seen many of them as he had travelled through Middle Earth. He muttered the counter charm then said mildly, "Now I have your attention." And indicated Frodo, who had in the intervening moments, been trying to make himself heard.

The Hobbit glanced at Harry half gratefully half nervously and said in a clear voice, "I will take the Ring to Mordor." And then added more quietly, "But I do not know the way."

Harry smiled softly. He saw himself in the small and slightly frightened Hobbit, and he stood forward at the same time as Gandalf. They shared the briefest of glances and Harry indicated that Gandalf should go first.

"I will help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear." The old wizard said. Harry then said, "I also shall stand with you, though my task will mean I have to deal with Saruman." By way of explanation he added, "At the very least I can attract his attention. My power is different from his, and I have reason to believe he covets that sort of power, yet cannot defeat its bearer as he can with Gandalf." Gandalf indicated his assent, though many others looked slightly confused. How could a boy triumph where Gandalf could not?

Aragorn stood forward and said, "If by my life or death, I can protect you, then I will."

As the others stood forward to pledge their allegiance, Gimli and Legolas not looking best pleased at being comrades, Boromir, with just the slightest trace of reluctance, which Harry supposed was fair. He just wanted the best for his city.

Harry grinned as first Sam, and then Merry and Pippin broke cover, the first causing Elrond to attain a look of amused irritation, the next two creating a look of mingled shock and outrage.

As Elrond surveyed them and pronounced them, "The fellowship of the Ring." ,Pippin piped up with, "Great. Where are we going?" in such innocent tones, that Harry covered his face with his hand and mumbled, "We're so doomed."

The next morning Harry rose early. It was an old habit, one drummed into him in early life by the Dursley's, and then reinforced by the hunt for the Horcruxes and life in middle earth. Looking out on the wide vista of Rivendell, he spotted Aragorn and Arwen speaking quietly to each other.

It hadn't taken him long after his arrival to work out that Aragorn and Arwen were totally smitten with one another, and not much later realised the political ramifications of Aragorn's mere existence. Around the same time he noticed how much Elrond was against the marriage of Arwen and Aragorn, not wanting Arwen to follow the path of Luthien to Aragorn's Beren, making demands of Aragorn, that he take his place as King of Gondor and Arnor to marry Arwen. This all led Harry to conclude that Aragorn and Arwen's love was the stuff of fairy tales, right down to the interfering Dark Lord.

Still, Harry thought grimly, if this expedition fails, the small matter of Aragorn and Arwen's eternal and undying love will be inconsequential. He wandered out of his room, deciding to take a stroll around Imladris before breakfast. To his surprise, as he turned the corner he walked straight into Boromir, who had, like him, not been looking where he was going. Hurried apologies were exchanged, then Boromir asked hesitantly, "Tell me Master Potter, who were you before you came here? You are the most mysterious man I have ever come across. Your wand appears to be a mere twig compared to Gandalf's staff, yet 'ere I arrived I heard whispered tales of a man fitting your description single handedly destroying roaming bands of Orcs and other dark creatures. They said you never stayed long, you just disappeared into the shadows. Did you know they call you the 'Wizard in the Shadows' ?"

Harry hesitated, but the man's earnest expression, and curiosity loosened his tongue. "I come from a land far away, not a land of Middle Earth but one like it, in some manners anyway, for instance, there are many wizards, though few of Gandalf's level of power. When I was a baby, there was an exceptionally powerful Dark wizard called Lord Voldemort. He was so feared that people refused to speak his name, merely calling him, You-Know-Who, or He-who-must-not-be-named. I was prophesied to kill him, much like your dream." Harry said, nodding at Boromir.

"He decided to kill me first. My parents and I lived under the protection of a powerful charm that prevented anyone who didn't know where it was getting in. Unless they had been told by the secret keeper. My parents chose as their secret keeper one of my father's friends, Peter Pettigrew, a wizard who among other things could turn into a rat. It was most appropriate. My parents thought that Voldemort would go for my father's best friend and my Godfather- a sort of guardian, Sirius Black. Pettigrew was Voldemort's spy and the little rat told him where we lived. Voldemort killed my father, then my mother. He offered her life if she handed me over. She refused and sacrificed herself to save me. The sacrifice meant that Voldemort's killing curse rebounded, destroying his body and leaving a scar on my forehead."

Harry pulled his hear away from his forehead to show Boromir the scar. By now, the Gondorian looked horrified and sympathetic.

"Pettigrew pinned the blame on Sirius, because no one else knew, blew up a street killing 13 people, cut off his finger to make it look like he had been blasted apart. Sirius was imprisoned in a place called Azkaban, a prison in the middle of the sea, run by dementors, similar to the Ringwraiths in their effects. They drain every happy thought and memory, until you are an insane gibbering shell. They can also administer the Dementors kiss, that is to say, they suck the soul out of your mouth. He stayed sane because he knew he was innocent. It was one thought they couldn't take. I had fought Voldemort twice more by the time I met him, once at 11, then at 12, though I fought part of his ripped apart soul. I met Sirius at 13, the next year I saw Voldemort reborn into a new body. I had fought him while he was possessing someone, and part of his soul, which I destroyed, but not him in his proper body. The year after, my mentor, Albus Dumbledore, an old man, but the most powerful wizard in the world, fought, and pretty much beat Voldemort protecting me, as he had lured me into a trap, to get hold of something no one else could, a copy of the prophecy about Voldemort and I."

Here Harry's tone saddened. "Sirius died fighting his insane cousin. She blasted him through a gateway of sorts. It's fairly safe to assume he is dead. When I was 16, Dumbledore was murdered, and passed on a quest to find the hidden pieces of Voldemort's soul and destroy them. With the help of two of my friends I did, and I killed Voldemort. But winning came at a price, many of my friends, the last of my father's friends, who was one of teachers were killed. I just wanted to leave, everyone was clamouring to meet the' Chosen one' who had liberated them from Voldemort. So I was sent here, to heal and help." Harry looked at Boromir, who was now regarding him with a mixture of compassion and incredulity.

At last the older man said, "You have fought so hard and long, and lost so much and you are still young. It is a marvel you are still in one piece. In many ways, it appears that we are the same you and I." Boromir chuckled and added, "And we need your experience at killing Dark lords with split souls."

Harry smiled wryly, and as they walked to breakfast, thought that Boromir might just be right.


	4. Chapter 4: Of Secrets and Quests

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, they keep me going! Sorry for the long hiatus, I have had a lot of exams and my muse was nowhere to be seen. As ever, I do not either Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. Please Read & Review.**

**Reply to Go home J.K. you witch: I never compared HP to LOTR, merely put the two worlds together. It's a bit of fun, live with it, I don't care if you hate JK, please judge the story on its own merits. It's in the crossover section for a reason. Thanks for the review. **

**RE: The point on the number of wizards. Dumbledore was stating the actual number of active ****wizards****, not general magic users of which there are admittedly many.**

Aragorn stood in the late evening shadows, watching Harry and Boromir talk amiably and then walk into the feasting hall. Aragorn sighed almost imperceptibly. He liked the Boromir, as he had liked Boromir's father, Denethor when he had served Gondor and Rohan under the assumed name of Thorongil. The man was passionate about Gondor and its people, any fool could see that, stiffly honourable to from head to toe.

Just as any fool could see that Boromir would not take Aragorn attempting to bring about his destiny very well, considering that Aragorn had been most remiss in his duty to protect Gondor all those years he had spent wandering in the wild, something that Aragorn suspected himself in his more melancholic moments.

As for Harry, Aragorn was still unsure of how powerful he was, how old he was, where precisely he was from. Harry had been evasive about all three. Gandalf, Galadriel and Elrond almost certainly knew, as might King Theoden of Rohan, whose lands for some reason Harry visited frequently, whenever he was not hunting Ringwraith's, and as the young man had once grimly described it on one of the few occasions he actually chose to speak, "Putting the fear of me into them."

For some reason Aragorn could not fathom, the man openly sought them, hunting them with such fervour that it made Aragorn wonder if the experiences in Harry's past had driven him slightly mad.

Indeed, he had long since become accustomed to hearing tales half whispered around fires of an evening, strange, furtively told stories, told as if they expected the main character to appear beside them, of a tall young man with unworldly cold green eyes hunting the terrors of the night, whether they be orc, troll or wraith.

Many Young drunks had tried to test their strength against him and all were found in a gibbering heap come morning, often with a couple of broken bones as a warning. Once, they said, agents of Mordor had incited a mob to attack him in his bedchamber when he was staying in an inn one night.

Screams and mysterious flashes of red light filled the night, and dawn shed its light upon the mob, half of whom were out cold, the other half hit by the first halves haphazardly thrown weapons. The innkeeper found a bag of gold coins and a politely scrawled note of apology attached to one of the more unfortunate men. When he returned two months later, it was to the delight of an apologetic populace who had been plagued by Wargs. When they tried to apologize, he nodded a couple of times, then swept off without a word.

Young ladies who tried to flirt with him were invariably met with a kind smile and a polite rebuttal, hinting that he had a sweetheart at home, and those bold enough, not to mention foolish enough, to continue flirting were met with colder and colder rebuttals, though interestingly enough it was very rare that he would actually harm a lady, and it was rumoured, usually whenever she said something along the lines of, 'your sweetheart, whoever she is, doesn't deserve someone like you', and the injury only extended to a brief outbreak of hives.

Aragorn himself had had similar problems, though less regularly, the unkind and ill-founded rumours that surrounded the rangers doing their work, though when the situation arose, he usually excused himself before it got out of hand.

The Wizard in the Shadows, or The Black Istar or The Shadowy Wizard or indeed any number of names that he picked up, the former being the most common, on the other hand, was notorious for taking violent exception to any attempt to displace him from his beer while he was drinking it.

Aragorn remembered one time when he had witnessed Harry conduct a bar fight with his tankard in one hand, always meticulously balanced so not a drop fell out, and that wand of his in the other. While Harry was not a heavy drinker, he guarded what drink he did have with an unusual obsession. Having seen Gandalf exhibit similar behaviour when pipe weed was involved, Aragorn put it down to a general all-pervading wizarding strangeness.

For these reasons and many others he was rumoured to be a greater spirit or a Maia, another Wizard sent to help against the forces of darkness, something which villagers throughout Arda were grateful for. However, this didn't mean they had to like him very much, especially those who had been on the wrong end of his wrath. Unlike Gandalf, he was not one who encouraged conversation. When engaged in conversation, he answered shortly but politely and soon excused himself, with a slightly wistful and mournful expression as if he missed the conversations he had had with long lost friends.

As Aragorn was brooding on this subject, he noticed Legolas had come to stand beside him, using the knack of elves to be infuriatingly quiet with very little effort.

"You were thinking of Harry." Legolas said a statement not a question.

Aragorn inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Legolas continued, "You also wonder no doubt, why he hunts the Nine with such fervour."

This astonished Aragorn, and as he turned to Legolas who caught his expression of utter disbelief and laughed, "Nay Estel, I did not read your mind, for we all wonder why he acts as he does. I once spoke to him and he was most reticent on the subject, but I managed to get him to tell me that he had met similar creatures, Dee-meant-ors he called them, weaker but far more common, that he hated even more than I and my kin hate the _yrch_. When I asked him he mumbled something about his guardian and bad memories and swept off. Truly, I have never seen him speak as much as he did just now."

Legolas paused then asked, "Maybe Boromir will bring the man he once was to the fore?"

Aragorn shrugged and said, "We can only hope." Then he asked, "When have you spoken with him? When he is not here, I believe he is either in the wilds of the North, Lorien or most often, Rohan, but never Mirkwood." Aragorn paused and added wryly, "I believe he doesn't like spiders much."

Legolas half smiled and stared at the setting sun for a while, then said, "3 years ago, he pursued one of the Nine into Mirkwood as it was fleeing towards DolGuldur."

He paused for a moment, as if wondering at how a young _edain_, albeit a powerful one, could force a Nazgul to flee in outright terror, then continued his tale.

"He was incautious and reckless, getting too close to it and it ran him through the shoulder with its sword. He chased it away with a silver apparition before collapsing. A patrol had been watching from a distance and had been running to assist, and brought him to the infirmary. He spent many weeks healing, for the wound was poisoned, though he managed to remove much of the poison with a spell, but enough remained to slow his healing. I spoke with him many times while he was there, and was very polite in thanking us for helping him." Legolas grinned "He is also one of the few people I have ever seen who were not intimidated by my father."

"I have heard that very little intimidates him these days. He throws himself into war with an almost reckless enthusiasm, and does not fear the Nine, for any fear he had turned into hatred long ago."

"Thankfully the hatred has not totally consumed him." Legolas said, looking troubled as if there was something else on his mind.

"What else is there Legolas?" Aragorn asked curiously. Legolas responded by glancing around to make sure no one could hear, then spoke quietly, "Shortly after I arrived here, Mithrandir told me of his imprisonment in Isengard. He told me that deep in its dungeons there was another prisoner, one who could and did shift his shape into that of a large black dog. He said that this wizard matched Harry's description of his guardian."

"Elbereth!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Are you certain Legolas?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes. He said he heard the man scream Harry's name as he was taken past. Apparently Saruman was trying to learn how to control the sort of power Harry wields, by torturing the man into revealing the secrets of his power. Gandalf said he could hear the man's mind continually screaming for help."

Aragorn bowed his head. Who knew how such news would affect his young friend? For all his power and battle experience, he was still young, and such a blow could break him, especially, considering Harry's character, his guilt over not finding him sooner. And what might come out of the wreckage Aragorn shuddered to think.

The Fellowship sent out in the soft grey light of the early morning, the hobbits disguising yawns as the company was addressed by Elrond and set on its way. Harry and Boromir brought up the rear, discreetly taking the hobbit's packs when they were flagging to let them recover, despite their impressive stoicism and determination. Aragorn and Gandalf led the way, occasionally pausing to confer, and speaking in hushed tones. This annoyed Boromir, though you would not tell unless you looked carefully, noting the narrowed eyes and some protruding veins in his temple.

After a particularly long conversation, Boromir opened his mouth to say something loud and rude, likely the Middle Earth equivalent of "Do the rest of us not exist or something?", when Harry, recognizing the ominous and obvious signs from his long friendship with Ron, elbowed him hard in stomach. As Boromir wheezed and staggered, Harry took his weight, bringing Boromir's ear close to his mouth and whispered, "Calm down Boromir, the presence of the Ring makes all of us short tempered. To divide and conquer is its method. I've seen it before, in something much the same yet thankfully much weaker, and it very nearly killed me. I am equally certain that Aragorn and Gandalf have good reasons for what they do."

Boromir hesitated, and then nodded reluctantly, as Gandalf turned and raised his impressive eyebrows in mute enquiry only to be met by a pair of carefully blank faces. Gandalf turned away and shared a brief look with Aragorn whose expression had taken a grim cast. The Ring was making its presence felt.

Sirius was in agony. This wasn't Azkaban, where he could at least focus on the fact he was innocent. This was physical torture of the most depraved kind that even the death eaters- no scratch that, the sort of torture that even death eaters minus Bellatrix would hesitate before performing.

And all the time, there was that silky voice in the back of his mind, smoother than the smoothest honey, offering to release him from his torment, if he gave up the secrets of his magic. Unfortunately, the mysterious voice hadn't counted on two things. 1) Sirius had pretty good mental defences, otherwise he would never have been able to prank Snivellus and 2) He was a Gryffindor, and by default, stubborn as a mule. Neither, however, precluded him from physically and mentally screaming in agony when one of his torturers stroked a red hot blade down his bleeding and sensitive back.

"_**HARRY!**_" The scream was heard for miles around, birds flew from the trees and animals bolted, their minds crazed with abject terror. Many miles away, Eomer was leading a patrol, and heard it in his mind, the shock of it nearly causing him to fall off his horse which was snorting and making a few small anxious steps. Isengard grows too dangerous, he thought as he calmed his horse, and he recognised the name amidst the nameless scream. He had to warn the King, and his enigmatic young friend whose name it was that had been screamed. He turned the patrol about and made with all haste for Edoras.


	5. Chapter 5: Those that were left behind

**A/N: This chapter is going to be somewhat different, and deals with the magical world and the repercussions of Harry's disappearance. I will probably do other chapters like this later. As usual, I own nothing aside from the plot. I don't know too much of Shacklebolt's character, so please tell me if I make a mistake in his characterization. **

When Voldemort was killed, the Wizarding population of the British Isles understandably celebrated like there was no tomorrow. The celebrations however, were tinged with great sorrow. The cost of the Battle of Hogwarts had been horrendous, many dying painful deaths and the survivors haunted by their losses. And none felt it more keenly than Harry Potter, everyone assumed, correctly. They also correctly assumed when he disappeared that he wanted to get away, also correctly.

However where they went wrong was where he had gone, and for how long. Most assumed he would resurface in a few weeks, and when he didn't, tensions rose. Where was their Messiah? The masses asked. Who drove him away? Even the Muggle Prime Minister inquired after him in his first meeting with Interim Minister Shacklebolt.

The Prime Minister was sitting behind his desk, and currently thanking whichever God had delivered him from the long year of murders, disasters and darkness. The darkness had reached its apex, the Prime Minister mused, in June/July, then abruptly had been cleared. He half expected Rufus Scrimgeour to come through the fire to announce all was well. But the fire and the wretched portrait that usually heralded the Minister for Magic's visits had stayed silent, and in the case of the portrait, totally oblivious to his occasional inquiries as to whether the Minister for Magic would be visiting.

Thus, the Prime Minister had thanked good fortune and resolved to ignore it for the rest of his term in office. Unfortunately for him, this was the same evening that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been installed as Interim Minister. The Prime Minister had been relaxing in his chair when he heard the ominous cough, followed by the frog like man in the portrait saying, "To the Muggle Prime Minister, urgent meeting required, Interim Minister for Magic."

The Prime Minister swivelled in his chair so that he faced the picture that had been the bane of his term of office. He had never heard the title, Interim Minister for Magic, but with a sinking feeling felt that it boded ill. With a sinking heart, he sighed, "Yes, yes I'll meet him."

He turned to the fire and straightened in his chair, eyeing the fire, which promptly turned green and a spinning figure appeared. As the Prime Minister looked closer, the figure didn't look like Scrimgeour, but it did look familiar. Very familiar. The Prime Minister watched, stunned, as his former aide stepped out of the fire. And he'd thought the Wizarding world could provide him with no more surprises.

"S-Shackelbolt?" The Prime Minister stammered, then got a grip on himself and snapped, "Shacklebolt, what are you doing here, are you coming with-" The Prime Minister was cut off by Shacklebolt who said in his deep voice, "Hello Prime Minister. I am, as you may have guessed, the Interim Minister for Magic. My Predecessor, Rufus Scrimgeour was murdered by-" Shacklebolt took a deep breath, and the Prime Minister took this as a signal to get out something strong to drink.

"Voldemort. He died fighting and afterwards Voldemort installed a Quisling, if you are familiar with the phrase, a puppet that was at his beck and call. He ruled the country for the last year, he and his minions torturing and killing people, often just for the fun of it."

By this time the Prime Minister was gripping the Single Malt whiskey bottle in a vice like grip. Shacklebolt appeared to take no notice. "Thankfully he is dead, for the final time. His nemesis and our deliverer, a young man called Harry Potter, have you heard the name?"

The Prime Minister nodded, remembering that many of Fudge's appearances had mentioned someone of that name, leading Shacklebolt to continue "Harry managed to kill Voldemort in single combat, something that only one other wizard got even close to doing out of the many powerful wizards who fought him, despite Harry having been prophesied to do so, we are still not entirely sure how precisely he did it. The confrontation and he understanding of its result are deeply mired in complex wand lore."

The Prime Minister sank thankfully into his chair, raising a glass of whiskey to his lips and drinking it while watching Shacklebolt. "So Voldemort is dead then? And his followers?" The Prime Minister queried hopefully.

"He is, and most of his followers were killed but…" Shacklebolt closed his eyes briefly then continued. "At a very great cost. The final battle between what forces we managed to scrape together and his dark army was at Hogwarts School, the chief magical school in Britain and one of the best in the world. Students, save those of age, were banned from fighting, though at least 45 snuck back in, avoiding evacuation. They made up a large portion of our 56 casualties. Some of our best witches and wizards died fighting, as not only did he bring his human minions, he also brought Giants, hundreds of Dementors and Acromantula, essentially giant poisonous tarantula's with human intelligence."

The Prime Minister interrupted quietly and sincerely, feeling a distinct sense of pity for the tired looking man opposite him in a way he had never felt for Fudge.

"My dear chap I am so sorry." Shacklebolt acknowledged the Prime Ministers sympathy then rounded off his story in something approaching a monotone.

"However, the centaurs of the school forest joined the fight on our side, as did one of the smaller giants. I and two other very powerful witches and wizards fought Voldemort himself, after he joined the fray, and he deflected our spells like they were an afterthought. One of the of age students managed to behead his pet snake, an enormous thing with deadly poison with a very powerful artefact and Harry, who had played dead, something we are also not sure how he managed, having been hit by the normally infallible killing curse, managed to kill Voldemort, deflecting his killing curse back at him." Shacklebolt finished, taking a large gulp of scotch.

"All is well then?" The Prime Minister said, not really expecting a yes.

"Mostly." Shacklebolt replied and said heavily, "Harry Potter has disappeared. He went missing 10 weeks ago and hasn't reappeared since. A couple of months after the battle he was gone, taking his luggage and left a note, apologising for leaving, and saying he had to get away for a while. This was the headline in the Wizarding newspaper this morning. Don't worry about the pictures, they're meant to do that." Shacklebolt reached inside his cloak and withdrew a much folded newspaper and laid it in front of the Prime Minister who read the headlines which screamed:

_**Harry Potter still missing**_

_**Ministry refuses to comment**_

A moving picture of a slightly embarrassed looking young man who appeared to be trying to ward off the camera was below, and he assumed it was Harry Potter in the photo, an assumption corroborated by the caption beneath. The Prime minister, recognising the significance of the headlines and reading through the vicious critique of the entire Ministry in an article that practically oozed vitriol, by someone called Rita Skeeter, winced. He had seen more than one such article directed at himself. A small section at the bottom of the paper said:

_**Shacklebolt appointed Interim Minister**_

The rest of the paper mostly talked about either the Ministry's ineptitude or the missing person, going into detail about his personal history and tactlessly speculating that one of his friends had murdered him of all things, claiming a potential 'crime of passion' by 'persons addled by jealously and stress'.

The Prime Minister looked up, his face grey, at Shacklebolt who said quietly, "They've been running articles like this for the last 5 weeks. This is the worst so far." He stood up and stared out the window. "We've had everyone out looking for him, and all the leads go cold at Hogwarts. If the portraits know anything…"

Here he waved at the painting of the man who carried messages from the Ministry to the Prime Minister to demonstrate the portraits abilities "…they're not saying. Potter is known to have a large degree of knowledge about the castle's secrets and may even have a magical map that documents them according to a highly reliable source close to him, who claims to have given Potter the map, which means he could have avoided being spotted. If any of the portrait's knows what happened to him and where he went, it is the portrait of the late headmaster Dumbledore, one of the most powerful and clever wizards ever to have existed, and Harry's mentor and protector after a fashion." Shacklebolt sighed again and added ruefully, "However, far be it from Dumbledore to not be enigmatic, alive or dead. He hasn't outright lied, but that isn't the same as telling the truth."

The Prime Minister nodded mutely. After nearly 20 years in politics, he knew exactly how that trick worked.

Shacklebolt stood up and held out his hand to the Prime Minister who shook it firmly. "It's good to be working with you again, though hopefully I won't need to speak to you much, if at all." And with that he stepped into the fire with went green once more and disappeared.

The Prime Minister lowered himself back into his chair again. He remembered where he had heard _that_ before.


	6. Chapter 6: Laughter, Snow, Angst

**A/N: I own nothing save the plot, that which isn't taken from LoTR. **

**On the homophobic reviews (a notable minority). I don't like the content of them much. I only stated it was none slash to avoid people asking me if Harry was going to be shipped with Aragorn/Legolas/Boromir, though I think that it was quite clear by now that Harry is still very much in love with Ginny. I like reviews, each and every one of them, but please, keep the homophobic prejudice out of it.**

**RE: netscape: The reason Harry volunteers so much information is, one, Boromir is human, two, Boromir reminds him a bit of Ron (Large, strong, occasionally tactless, and like Ron, not completely resilient to the blandishments of an object housing a Dark Lord's shattered soul) and sometimes even mystery wizards need someone to talk to. However I will admit it was a tad OOC. **

**Also, Harry mentions the resurrection stone showing Sirius. However in my interpretation, it is just a copy of his personality, and only thinks of falling through the Veil as death because it cannot remember anything further.**

As they trekked southwards, keeping the Misty Mountains to their left, heading south towards the Gap of Rohan, Harry felt uneasy. Like he was being watched and assessed. Not by something far away, but something uncomfortably close to him. _Harry_. He jerked and then, spotting the source of the psychic whisper. Of course, he thought, as followed the feeling and ended up looking at where he knew Frodo was keeping the ring.

_Sod. Off._ He replied firmly in the confines of his head.

_You could have great power…Even the power to return to your homeland, far from affairs and wars not your own, to make those you have loved and lost breathe once more. How long has it been since you saw them, 4 years? All you need to do is take me, and I will grant you that power, to do all that and_ much_ more. _

Before he had a chance to tell it where to get off, it showed him a vision of himself, clad in pure white robes, stepping through what he recognised to be a portal to his world, the distinctive green flames of a floo trip edging it, not needing pitiful things such as fireplaces, even ones with properties such as the one in the Headmasters office, emanating raw power, and in his wake, the dead came to life with a gasp, wounds healing, having the power to do anything, be anything, live and love Ginny forever, destroy any remaining Death Eaters, all cowering before his might…

Harry shook his head stubbornly, trying to shake off the seductive mind voice of the Ring. Now I know how Boromir feels, Harry thought grimly. Those visions were not him. Never.

_The dead stay dead. Even you could not grant me that power and…I would not, no I could not, accept it_, Harry thought stubbornly at the Ring.

The Ring changed tack, _Take me, and you can relieve the hobbit of his burden, your friend the Steward's son of his temptation. Take me and you will be able to take me to your world, heal only those who would not have otherwise died in the war, those who died for _you_, even making it so that they had never died, far away…_ Suddenly another image formed in his mind, a room in the Burrow, Ginny holding a black haired sleeping baby boy while he stood beside her looking proud, with Sirius, Lupin and Tonks watching and smiling, Lupin holding a squirming toddler who Harry presumed was Teddy in his arms. And it could all be his, Middle Earth would have its peace…

"I could make it right." He muttered aloud, still stuck in the reverie._ Yes. All this I could give to you. Now take me!_

"Harry!" He blinked and looked up to the sight of a worried Aragorn shaking him. Of course, he thought bitterly, even if the Ring was far away, it would not be enough. Elrond himself had said that.

"The Ring…It was tempting me." Harry said in slightly broken tone of voice, in response to Aragorn's unasked question.

"What with? OW!" Pippin asked, immediately being whacked around the back of the head by Merry.

"If he wants to say he'll say! Don't pry Pip!"

"A future I could never have. Half the people in it are dead, and I can't reach the other half." He said hollowly and trudged on ahead.

"Now look what you've done!" Merry hissed at Pippin, who looked thoroughly guilty. He hadn't meant to hurt Harry, he'd just been curious.

Boromir drew level with Aragorn and Gandalf, while Harry strode on ahead, Legolas and Gimli were guarding the rear, and very emphatically not talking to each other. Gandalf suspected that that would change as Gimli would likely want to know what was being talked about, having bonded with Harry over beer in Rivendell. Gandalf also wondered whether Legolas would tell him, and be slightly smug about his superior senses, or be mysterious and not say anything.

"What did the Ring show Harry?" Boromir asked quietly after a moments silence.

"Harry left a lot of people he cared about behind when he came to Middle Earth, and he didn't intend to come for long, so he has spent much of his time since he arrived trying to return." Gandalf stated, watching the darkly dressed figure up ahead.

"As he told you, he had just fought a war Boromir, and he lost a lot of people. The Ring probably showed him them, claiming it could resurrect the dead and return him home." Aragorn added, then by way of explanation in response to Boromir's look of surprise, added, "I saw you two talking in Rivendell. He likes you, and for all his power and bravery, he is still young and in pain."

The implication being, 'treat him like you would a traumatised young soldier', thought Boromir. He looked at the thin black figure up ahead, and thought that would be easier said than done.

Pippin was thoroughly miserable. He had discovered that adventures, great stories as they made for impressing fine hobbit lasses, were little fun to experience. Especially when they were experienced barefoot in the snowy mountain passes. He was cold, wet, tired and hungry. However, Pippin was a particularly stubborn Hobbit, and the youngest of the Fellowship having decided Harry didn't count, despite being several years younger than him. The big folk aged faster, and Harry was a powerful wizard and a war veteran to boot, not a naïve and foolish hobbit like him, he reasoned. He was not going to give in.

At that moment, Harry stopped and shouted, "Merlin! How could I have-" Then busied himself by drawing his wand and tapping each member of the Fellowships packs twice, muttering under his breath several choice imprecations aimed at himself. When he tapped Pippin's pack, the weight practically disappeared. Once all the packs were dealt with, he paused for a moment, then muttered, casting another couple of spells at the Hobbits, making them feel warm all of a sudden.

"Featherweight and warming charms." He said by way of explanation. "They should last for a while yet."

Boromir, seeing the Hobbits look at Harry in wonder and stop shivering, complained jokingly, "Why can't I have one of those?"

Harry grinned at him and replied, "Surely the brave and mighty Captain-General of Gondor doesn't need to worry about the ordinary problems that afflict us mere mortals, such as getting cold?"

Playing along with a falsely indignant snort, which drew amused looks from the rest of the Fellowship who had decided to indulge in free entertainment, Boromir said, "Not all of us are powerful wizards who are far too aloof to deign to share their secrets with _us_ mere mortals."

"It was much colder when I was patrolling with Eomer and Theodred in Rohan, and they didn't complain once." He said with a smile, then suddenly he clapped his hand to his heart in mock horror. "Surely you haven't gone soft on us Boromir?" Harry said.

"Not all of us are ridiculously stubborn Rohirrim either." Was the equable reply.

"No, I will allow that…" Harry said with a dramatic pause, "You're a soft Gondorian instead."

Without warning, Boromir leaned down, grabbed some snow and hurled it, all in one smooth movement, displaying years of warrior training in one childish moment by hitting Harry square in the face.

"And you're a slow wizard." Boromir pronounced with satisfaction. This earned him a small snowdrift to the face. As Boromir toppled over, he not-so-randomly hurled the next snowball he had made into Aragorn's midriff. Aragorn let out his breath in a surprised "Ooph!", stumbling backwards then instinctively returning fire. Wayward snowballs caused teams to form, Boromir, Gimli and the hobbits versus Aragorn, Legolas and Harry, Gandalf laughing as he watched.

After a while, when it became clear that having a wizard taking part seriously unbalanced the teams, and since Gandalf did not intend to balance things out, the Hobbits shared a look and let out a war cry, "For the Shire!" and tackled Harry as one, realising that they were unable to match his rate of fire from levitated snowballs.

And as the company laughed, Gandalf realised that was the first time he had ever seen Harry actually laugh, and one of the few times he had seen him smile. It seemed that the shadow cast over him by the Ring had been at least temporarily broken. Still, Gandalf was worried. He knew he would have been too strong if he had accepted the Ring, but he shuddered to think of the power Harry might wield if he took up the Ring. Maybe Harry's friendship with Boromir would help, he thought. Hopefully. The alternative did not bear thinking about.

As they climbed up the mountains towards the Redhorn pass of Caradhras, Harry noted that both Aragorn and Legolas kept a more careful eye on their surroundings. Worried, Harry asked Gandalf why they were so edgy.

"It was around here that Celebrian, wife of Lord Elrond, mother of the Lady Arwen and Lords Elladan and Elrohir was captured by an Orc raiding party. She was tortured for many months, and it broke her mind. It was beyond even Elrond's skill to completely heal, so she was sent to the Undying Lands to be healed, and to wait for her family." Here Gandalf paused for breath briefly.

"This caused both Elladan and Elrohir to have an undying hatred for Orcs, even by elven standards, and Elrond to be much more protective of Arwen. It was over 500 years ago, but it is possible the faintest echoes of her fear and torment remain to be felt by Legolas. And Aragorn would have heard the tale growing up in Rivendell. Also, the mountain of Caradhras which we are climbing seems to have a fell and fearsome nature of its own." Gandalf finished grimly.

"Then why not take the route through Moria? I know that it would impossible to move secretly through the Gap of Rohan. For one thing," Here Harry chuckled, "I doubt the entire Fellowship would fit under my invisibility cloak. It had enough difficulty covering I and my two friends."

Gandalf, who had sat down, as the Fellowship were setting up a brief camp for lunch, and had retrieved his pipe, stopped and looked very carefully at Harry. Harry caught the look, and understanding it, said reassuringly, "It is not like the Ring, Gandalf. It does not reveal one's presence to Ringwraiths for one, and it does not think for itself, despite children's stories about its previous owner being Death himself. It is a family heirloom that Dumbledore kept for me until my first year of schooling at Hogwarts." Harry briefly looked troubled.

"Maybe it could have saved them, though I think it's unlikely. By the time my father knew he was there, all he could do was tell my mother to save me and try to hold off Voldemort without his wand."

"A brave man." Gandalf said quietly. From what hints Harry had let slip during his time in Middle Earth, he knew Voldemort to have been a skilled and terrible foe, one even he, one of the greater Maiar and a contemporary of Eonwe, herald and General of the Valar, would not have chosen to face in his mortal form. In his Maia form, that was a different matter, however his Maia form would not be one he could assume until he returned to Valinor, which was unlikely to happen any time soon. Besides, he had grown attached to both his mortal form and Arda Marred, for all their flaws and problems, which added a certain lustre to their glories. Unaware of Gandalf's internal monologue, Harry continued.

"I'm always told I look exactly like him, right down to the messy hair, but that I have my mother's eyes. I spoke to them twice, after they died, once a sort of imprint of their consciousness, like a ghost except temporary and sort of solid as a side effect of a duel I had with Voldemort when I was 14."

When he heard this, Gandalf nearly swallowed his pipe. 'While it was not unheard of that men learned how to fight young, even a pitched battle was not on the scale of a full on magical duel!' He thought, as Harry smacked him a couple of times on the back in sympathy. When Gandalf retrieved his pipe, and Harry cast one more look at him to see if he was listening, he continued.

"The second time, I got hold of something called the resurrection stone. It was part of trio of magical objects, the stone, my cloak and a wand renowned for being the strongest in existence, the Elder Wand. Holding all 3 objects was meant to make you Master of Death. My friend Hermione told me that the wand was the best known and most sought after, leaving a trail of death and destruction behind it, being called the Wand of Destiny, the Death stick. Unlike your Staff," here Harry gestured at Gandalf's gnarly wooden staff.

"Wands can change hands through defeat in a duel. Voldemort used the wand for a while, taking off the body of my mentor Dumbledore, who looked more than a bit like you, actually. Dumbledore had won it in a duel with another dark lord, Grindelwald, and so on. Anyway, the stone showed me my parents, my Godfather, my guardian and their best friend," Harry added in response to Gandalf's mildly confused frown, "He was my former teacher and another of my parent's friends. He and his wife died fighting in the battle, but not before he had me his new-born son's godfather." Harry looked a little morose at this point. "I shirked my responsibilities in that area. He'll be about 4 now, and I think his grandmother is looking after him, so he should be well. And he wasn't the only one I left behind." He stood up, and walked away, the snow crunching under his feet. Only Gandalf and Legolas heard what he said next, before it was whipped away by the wind. "Oh, _Ginny_."

**Yep, you can expect Harry to do a fair bit of angsting every now and then. Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, and all I ask is you keep reviewing. Click the little button down there, you know you want to…**


	7. Chapter 7: Battle On Caradhras

**A/N: And now for a sort of action chapter! And I was happily shocked by the unprecedented number of reviews and their speed for the last chapter, thanks! All of you! Oh, and due to Harry's spells, the fire incident may or may not happen. Just with a different spin on it. **

**This is where the tale makes its first serious divergence from canon. Enjoy!**

The Fellowship trekked further across the snow, never ceasing, never flagging, with no change. Until, that is, Frodo tripped and fell face first into the snow. Aragorn quickly grabbed him and set him up right again, brushing snow off of him and checking if he was all right, while Frodo checked for the Ring in a panic. It wasn't there. It was easily spotted lying not 10 feet away in the snow, when Boromir picked it up and stared at it. Harry and Gandalf had turned round at all the commotion having been walking at the front of the group, conversing in low voices, and Harry now slowly and quietly walked up behind Boromir.

"Boromir!" Aragorn barked as Boromir continued to stare at the Ring.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer such fear and doubt over such a small thing." Boromir whispered, with both awe and hatred in his voice as he stared at the Ring on it's chain.

"Such a little thing…" He repeated softly.

"Boromir!" Aragorn barked again, more forcefully this time. Harry noticed with unease that his hand was on his sword, and Boromir appeared to snap out of the Ring's hypnotic charm at the sound of his voice. "Give Frodo the Ring." Aragorn said calmly.

"As you wish," Boromir said, with a falsely jocular smile and a falsely jocular tone, as Frodo snatched the Ring and replaced around his neck. "I care not." Then he jumped slightly as Harry laid a hand on his shoulder and drew him away. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Aragorn slowly release his grip on the hilt of his sword.

Despite Harry's magic, the cold was ever a malevolent presence as the wind began to pick up, and Legolas paused and listened. A deep and melodious voice chanting was being carried on the wind.

"There is a fell voice on the air!" he said, worried.

"Saruman!" Gandalf bellowed and Harry hissed, both starting up chants and spells of their own, while Aragorn cried "He's trying to bring down the mountain!", and he, Gimli and Boromir backed themselves and the Hobbits up against the mountain wall. For a few moments it seemed as if the combined magic's of Harry and Gandalf would triumph, as the voice seemed to recede, then it came back stronger. Then, Harry yelled, clutching his head, and retained only enough composure to fire off another spell with a roar of, "_Finite Incantatem!_"

There was a massive bang as the spells collided, causing snow to collapse on the Fellowship in a small avalanche.

"Caradhras is too dangerous Gandalf. The little ones are freezing." Boromir stated flatly. "We should take the Gap of Rohan! We would be well treated once we reached Edoras and the terrain is flat. I, Harry and you are all well-known there! We can expect good treatment and time to recover and plan our next move."

"As tempting as it sounds Boromir, Saruman has it under close watch. Remember the Crebain." Harry replied dully. He was in shock. He hadn't thought that the confrontation with Saruman would be easy, but to be so overpowered, with Gandalf by his side, was shocking.

"Then there is Moria! My cousin Balin rules there will give us a _royal_ welcome!" Gimli interjected.

"I have been through Moria once. I have no wish to do so again." Aragorn said quietly.

"That was before my cousin ruled there!" Gimli replied hotly. Before an argument developed, Gandalf spoke.

"Let the Ringbearer decide." He said, looking troubled. Harry wondered what there could possibly be that was worse than a corrupted wizard in Moria. He had heard rumours of the place, but surely, with a whole dwarf nation by their side, nothing could compare to the risk of being caught by Saruman, especially after fighting him in a contest of arcane power and losing.

After some deliberation, during which Gandalf could almost see the young Hobbits' thoughts, he said, "Let us go through Moria." He sighed inwardly. He understood the appeal from Frodo's point of view. Warmth, food, drink and a warm welcome by Gimli's people against the cold and terror of Caradhras, or the exposure of the Gap of Rohan under the eye of Saruman, when even the seemingly invincible Harry and the famous Gandalf the Grey had failed to best him.

It seemed obvious. Until, that is, you factored in Durin's Bane. He would have to tell Harry. He cast a glance at the young wizard, who was looking at his hands as if he didn't know what they were. Then he thought of something. "Harry!"

"Yes Gandalf?" Harry replied dully.

"You can transport yourself across vast spaces in the blink of an eye, can you not?" Gandalf inquired, a spark of hope kindling in his chest.

"Like he did with Frodo when he was poisoned?" Pippin asked curiously, the rest of the Fellowship slowly catching on to what he meant.

"Could I apparate with the Fellowship you mean?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Not all at once, but maybe one at a time. However I have never tried over so great a distance." He thought for a moment, then nodded decisively. With a whirl of his cloak as he turned on his heel and a loud crack, he disappeared. The Fellowship waited with bated breath.

A couple of moments later, Harry reappeared swaying, a massive wound in his chest. A wound in the shape of a great hand.

"I…guess that means…no." He croaked, then staggered and collapsed, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Aragorn, Boromir, quickly!" Gandalf said, moving with a speed that belied his appearance and gently lifted Harry with assistance from Boromir, and carried him to a small overhang.

"Gimli and Legolas, find a way to light a fire and do it fast. I do not know what else Saruman did to him, but even if it is only the wound itself, he will still need to be warm." The elf and dwarf looked at each other in distaste, and then, to Gandalf's mild amusement, gave him identical looks that said clearer than words, "you expect me to work with _him_?"

However there was no time for levity. "Move!" he bellowed, and after a fraction of a second they did. He turned back to Harry. "I am so sorry my young friend." He murmured, then looked up at Aragorn. "How is he?"

The ranger sighed. "He has lost a lot of blood and is in shock. Both from the wound and at the fact he has been confounded twice, and so easily. Meaning no offence, Gandalf." He hastily added, glancing up from tearing up strips of cloth which Boromir was laying carefully on Harry's wound.

Gandalf smiled grimly. "None taken old friend. Saruman was always stronger than I. Now he is more so. I had not thought he would be this strong though." He muttered as he turned to see how the Legolas and Gimli brains trust was doing in the fire lighting. About as well as you would expect from two beings whose fathers openly disliked and distrusted one another and that was before you took into account the ages old enmity between the two peoples. He sighed as both looked up at him from a pile of kindling that was the closest they had got to a fire.

"While we dwarfs are far superior in the making of fires Gandalf," here Gimli paused as Legolas waited serenely for his chance to speak. Robbed of his amusement, Gimli ploughed on. "Even we cannot make this pile o' damp twigs burn, much less the blonde elven princeling over here."

"I say and with all due respect to the dwarf, that the elves are far better at such fire making, but I must agree with him when I say that even I cannot make it burn." Legolas and Gimli stared at Gandalf, and he did not need his millennia of wisdom to work out what they were thinking.

"Oh no, Thranduilion and son of Gloin, I will not be coerced into this." He said firmly.

"Why? Saruman already knows we are here." Legolas replied, nodding in the direction of Harry's battered body.

"Aye, and the laddy will die if he isn't warmed up." Gimli agreed.

Gandalf sighed. At least they were working with one another, rather than bickering. He motioned them to move away, and muttered something in Valarin. A tongue of flame leapt from the end of his staff to the desultory pile of kindling and wood, causing it to burn merrily. Immediately the two failed fire starters clustered around it, admonishing one another about getting too close and smothering it.

About 5 minutes later, Sam's small cauldron was bubbling with hot water, and new bandages were being applied to Harry's chest, while he was being kept wrapped up in various furs. The hobbits were most anxious about his welfare, Pippin being of the view that because he had been involved in suggesting that Harry apparate the Fellowship to Rohan, it was at least partially his fault.

"Is he going ta die?" He whispered to Aragorn.

"No, little one, he will be fine soon enough." Aragorn said reassuringly, wishing he could be confident of that. As soon as Pippin seemed somewhat calmed down, Aragorn nodded to Boromir and stood up, walking to where Gandalf was standing, cloak wrapped around his shoulders, staring grimly into the snowy skies.

"Gandalf, we must move him down to Moria, if that is where we are going to go. He has not woken up yet, and I cannot guarantee that he will survive if we stay here. We can build a small litter and carry him down, until he is capable of walking at least." Aragorn said urgently, keeping his voice down. Gandalf nodded slowly.

Suddenly he sounded very old. "Tell the rest that we move in an hour. We will take the path through the long dark of Moria."

Eomer walked through the doors to the Golden Hall of Meduseld. No longer was it remotely golden, he thought sadly, or even particularly warm. It was a place of cold, dust and shadows, with shifty men on the edge of sight. His beloved uncle ensconced was on the throne, swathed in dirty furs, seemingly senile and barely capable of speech let alone movement, with that greasy snake Grima Wormtongue sitting beside him and ever dripping poison into his ears.

His ponderings where interrupted by a loud and familiar crack, and then an unpleasant sounding noise of the kind that Eomer associated with a blade chopping into flesh. At the same time, a familiar black haired and robed figure appeared, then promptly collapsed on the floor, then struggled to his feet and disappeared with another crack. As he turned and disappeared, he recognised the surprised and agonised green eyes of his friend, the Wizard in The Shadows, Harry Potter.

He strode across to where his friend had so recently fallen. A large pool of blood was on the floor, in the rough shape of a hand, outlined in a hand shaped piece of black cloth. He glanced up, and saw Wormtongue with a vindictive smile playing on his lips. He clenched his fist. Saruman and his lapdog would pay, he swore that on the blood of his ancestors. With Theodred and Eowyn by his side, he had faith that the King would be able to see reason.

As he stood, he saw his sister by one of the entrances to the hall. She had gone very pale, and he just shook his head briefly, as if to say, 'not now'.

"Did you seek an audience with the King?" Wormtongue asked in his oiliest tone of voice, the triumphantly evil smirk still in place.

Eomer simply stared at him, with all the anger he felt coalescing in his hawkish features. He waited for a moment, letting Wormtongue truly appreciate his expression, and then said flatly. "No. The matter can wait."

He bowed briefly to his Uncle, and with a quiet, 'My lord', followed his sister down the corridor. He had some thinking to do, rendered all the more urgent with Saruman's apparent increase in strength, as he sought out his cousin Theodred's chambers. Theodred had been reluctant to move against his father's chief advisor. Maybe this would convince him to act against the snake at the heart of Rohan.

**Eomer will be turning up a bit more, don't you worry. And don't forget to click the little button just down there…**


	8. Chapter 8: Wolves and Plots

A/N: A chapter in which there is little angsting and much violence, and political intrigue in Rohan.

Boromir and Aragorn both gently set Harry's litter on the ground as the Fellowship stopped to rest, having reached the end of the snow line, and had come upon an area of large flat stones. He had yet to wake up. All the company save Gandalf who sat on a large boulder smoking his pipe, obviously deep in thought, cast worried glances at Harry's unconscious form. Finally Legolas voiced the questions they were all thinking.

"How does he Gandalf? And what happened to him? Did his spell go awry?" Gandalf didn't reply for a few moments, as if he hadn't notice the entire Fellowship stop setting up a fire and some lunch, and blew a smoke ring.

"He performed his transportation spell perfectly. It was Saruman who interfered and caused his injury." He took a long draw from his pipe then continued slowly, "Harry once told me of spells in his world designed to keep his kind from using this spell, to protect a place from attack or to imprison a fugitive. He told me he had seen it put to both uses, and the implication was that it required a great deal of power."

He sighed and said, "And if there is one thing Saruman does not lack these days, it is power. And he is gaining knowledge that was never available to any of my order, from a distinctly unwilling source. Harry's godfather." By way of explanation to the Hobbits he added, "an adopted kinsman of a sort, a guardian who was entrusted with his welfare upon his parents untimely deaths, though for reasons Harry has not elaborated on, this did not happen."

"Like Bilbo was to me." Frodo said. The normally talkative and cheery Ringbearer had until now been subdued, the Ring obviously making its presence known in its effect on his mood and bearing.

"Exactly so Frodo. Exactly so, though he is not Harry's kinsman by blood, only by bond." The old wizard confirmed.

"None of you are to tell Harry of this. His godfather's apparent death broke his heart once, his reappearance as a tortured victim of Saruman would do much worse. He isn't ready to face Saruman in battle. Not yet." Gandalf spoke quietly but firmly, his voice full of authority. The company gave their collective, reluctant in some cases, assent.

"As for your previous questions Thranduilion, he is well enough for now, and I believe he is probably in a degree of shock. It is more than possible that he doubts his chances of success against Saruman, particularly if he fights him at the heart of his power. And his wound was great. I deem it likely that he shall come round soon enough." Gandalf stood.

"You should eat quickly. We have much ground to cover and little enough time to do it. There is an evil in these lands that not even Balin's Moria can dispel."

"Aye, that there is Gandalf. However, once we get to Moria it will be a different story of course. You and Balin will have a lot of catching up to do!" Gimli said with a smile, trying to break the gloomy mood.

"Very true Gimli. I know for a fact that he will be happy to listen to your tales of our journey, and to meet you too Frodo." He said with a weary smile, looking at the quietest member of the party that was currently conscious. "He has heard much about you from his various visits to Bilbo."

Frodo smiled slightly at that, then perked up even more when Sam had managed to fry some wild mushrooms to go with the dried meat and fruit that made up most of their diet. The sausages were being carefully rationed. As Merry and Pippin both jostled with one another to be the first to the mushrooms, a softly amused voice rasped from behind them. "You'd better leave some for Frodo and I, before you two eat them all."

The entire company turned to see Harry levering himself up carefully on his elbows, wincing as he did so. Aragorn quickly moved to his side, pushing him back down and said, "You should rest my friend. You were grievously wounded." He nodded down at Harry's chest. In answer Harry fumbled for his wand, tapped his chest with it and muttered something.

"Check." Harry said.

"Harry, it will not have even begun to be healed y-"

"Check." Was the insistent reply.

Aragorn rolled his eyes and did, muttering about stubborn wizards under his breath. What he saw drew a sharp gasp from the normally stoic Dunadan's lips. The wound was not completely healed, true, but it was healing before his very eyes, leaving only a little scar tissue in its wake.

"Eru…" He breathed. In his long life he had never seen anything like this. Gandalf who was watching smiled softly and thought of his own saying about hobbits. You could learn their ways in a week, but after a hundred years they could still surprise you. The same applied to wizards. Of all kinds, he thought, his good mood souring as he returned to his contemplation of Saruman's betrayal. Losing the White Wizard had been an enormous blow to the forces of good. As much as he had disliked it, Elrond's speech about the list of allies growing thin was far from wrong.

Still, as long as there was happiness and laughter in the world all was not lost, he thought as he watched Harry summon a plate of mushrooms, wolf them down with some water and dried meat then go back to sleep, saying that powerful wizard though he was, even he needed rest whereupon the rest of the Fellowship jeered derisively, saying that all he did was sleep. Harry responded with a presumably rude hand gesture of raising the middle finger of his left hand in the direction of his companions briefly, and went back to sleep. Yes, there was still some hope.

He roused himself, and stretched. This quest, already a far greater hardship than the one undertaken with Bilbo and the dwarves, though this time the enemy was far greater than the mightiest dragon, even greater than Ancalagon the Black, mightiest of Morgoth's dragons who had been slain by Earendil in aerial combat. It made him long for the freedom his Maia form accorded him, when he would not be bound to this form with its aches and pains and could return to Valinor. And yet, he would miss this world when he finally left, in whatever manner he did so. Like the Music of the Ainur, for all the flaws Morgoth had introduced, it was still beautiful and all the more so for its flaws. He just hoped that Durin's bane still slumbered. If it had been awakened once more by Balin, there would be no living dwarves in the mines and the Balrog itself would be almost as formidable as facing Saruman himself. Especially if the tales from Moria were true, and it was a particularly large member of its kind.

He kept watch, alone with his thoughts and watching the darkness while the others slept. Then he pricked up his ears. The few sounds of birds and creatures of the forest had disappeared entirely. Silence enveloped the clearing like a dark blanket, and only the crackling of the fire and Gimli's penetrating snore were to be heard. And then he heard it. A long, low howl.

Wargs, the monstrous wolves of the forests. Calling them wolves was an insult to true wolves - magnificent creatures that his friend Radagast often spoke with - he thought, as he stood quietly, and moved to wake Boromir and Gimli, Aragorn and Legolas already being awake. Wargs were the things of nightmare, ugly, powerful and with just enough intelligence to be cruel and the smarter specimens had their own language. He had encountered them with Bilbo and the Dwarves, but then there had been goblins and they had had the aid of the great eagles. The Fellowship had armed themselves, with the Hobbits and Harry's currently comatose form in the centre of a ring of steel and courage, standing next to the fire. The first warg, a hideously massive beast with a dark grey fur and long jagged scars on its muzzle and flanks, wandered into the edge of the firelight and snarled.

"Build up the fire! It's our only hope, and stay together." Gandalf commanded sharply, and the Hobbits did his bidding, and Boromir covered their rear, and Aragorn and Gimli stood either side of him, while Legolas began to fire arrows at the phenomenal rate and accuracy only known to the very best elven archers. Legolas came from a family of great warriors, the mighty King Thrandruil and his father Oropher being only the two most notable, and no doubt royal training and the spiders of Mirkwood had honed his inherited natural talent, Gandalf thought with a grim smile as he drew Glamdring.

He glanced behind him briefly, turned to face the front then checked sharply and looked back. The Hobbits were wearing expressions being a mix of fear and defiance, and Sting glowed brightly. It seemed that its glow was engendered by wargs as well as orcs. How curious. But what surprised him was less visible and more a feeling. An aura of power was building around Harry, the like of which he had not felt since the War of Wrath, in his fellow Maia preparing for battle. He smiled fiercely, and exchanged a look with Legolas, who had briefly ceased his archery, presumably conserving arrows, and was looking rather puzzled. Gandalf merely nodded at Harry and Legolas frowned in curiosity, then shrugged, returning to his archery as the wargs massed for a charge. Pragmatism was one of the chief traits of the Sindar of Mirkwood.

The wargs charged one or two at a time, and were either dealt with by an arrow or a sword blow. Then Aragorn went down under a relatively small warg that came at him from the side as he fended off one of its companions. For a moment all were paralysed in shock, as Aragorn struggled with the creature that was intent on ripping his throat out, then a roar of rage was heard and a large sword whistled through the air and hit the warg in the side with astonishing force. The unfortunate beast howled, pawed at the wound, then collapsed, the light disappearing from its black and evil eyes. This incredible feat of bravery however risked destruction at the hands of the wargs. Aragorn was down with at least cracked rib and claw marks down his side, Boromir who had hurled the sword was armed with no more than a shield and a long dagger, and Legolas was running short of arrows. Then behind them Harry stood, and said 4 words very quietly, in a carrying whisper, "No one hurts my friends." Then he bellowed, "Incendio!", and whipped his wand in a wide semi-circle, a line of white hot flame issuing from the tip, setting the dry pine trees and some of the less fortunate wargs alight.

"Gandalf," Harry said with the sort of calm that was only reached on the far side anger, "you once told me that you could manipulate the elements, create a lake from a cup of water, that sort of thing. Would you do me the favour of assisting me in burning these hideous monsters to the bone?" Gandalf nodded curtly, then raised his staff, and roared something in Valarin. The already merrily crackling roared greedily with a new intensity, feasting on the trees around them and the wargs within. The Hobbits looked up at Harry and his cold expression with mix of awe and fear. Frodo was also uncomfortably aware that if either Harry or Gandalf sought to take the Ring in earnest, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

Gandalf resisted the Ring well enough, but Harry was younger, more vulnerable and in some ways, far more powerful, Frodo thought as Harry wandered over to Aragorn, looked at the warg that had attacked him, and kicked it. When it twitched and whined he aimed his wand at its head, muttered something which caused a beam of orange light to obliterate the wargs head. He had not forgotten the last time the Ring had overtly tempted Harry, and he somehow doubted it would be the only time. He was shaken out of his dark thoughts when Harry walked up, carefully supporting Aragorn with his left arm and said brightly, "Anyone up for tea? I got some from Rivendell and," he gestured at the flames which were subsiding, but showing signs of burning through the night and chuckled, "heat won't be a problem." And with that, he summoned a kettle from Sam's pack (everyone aside from Aragorn and Gandalf jumped slightly at that), muttered a spell Pippin vaguely recognised and a stream of water that filled the pot, and grinned at the dumbstruck Fellowship as he lowered Aragorn to the ground.

"What bothers you so brother? And why was their blood on the floor of the throne room?" Eowyn said in an interrogating tone as soon as they were out of earshot of the throne room and Wormtongue and his lackeys.

"Harry Potter. He seems to have tried his travelling trick, the one where he disappears from one place and arrives in another in the blink of an eye. Something prevented him from doing so, and Wormtongue seemed unduly smug, so I would bet my horse and all my armour that is some fell sorcery of Saruman's making." Eomer replied grimly, striding towards Theodred's quarters so fast that even his strong and long-legged sister had difficulty keeping up. As they walked she noticed he had a piece of blood soaked black cloth in his tightly clenched left fist. When they arrived he rapped hard on the door with his knuckles.

"Cousin, I and Eowyn would talk to you. We are coming in after I count to 5 whether you are decent or not." Eomer said loudly, blending formality and the ribald humour shared between close family and friends.

"Honestly cousin, it is hardly as if I have anyone here with me." Theodred grumbled as he opened the door.

"First time for everything." Eowyn said dryly, eliciting a sigh from the casually dressed Crown Prince of Rohan.

"Are you two here about anything important, or merely to mock me?" Theodred replied, "Because I drank far too much last night, and my head still hurts."

Eomer opened his mouth to jest about his cousin being a lightweight before Eowyn swatted him around the skull. He settled for grinning and rubbing his head before his demeanour turned deadly serious. Theodred leaned forward as his cousins sat down on chairs provided for the purpose. Eomer was rarely this serious, and whenever he was it was never good. Such as when he had had to tell Théoden that Gandalf had interpreted the courteous and expected offer of a horse as 'take the finest horse in the King's stable'.

Gandalf had absconded with the King's finest horses on prior occasion, and to his credit usually returned them in one piece and often in slightly better condition than when they had left, though this could be attributed to the amount of time he spent among the elves, who were renowned for their way with animals, particularly horses. Unfortunately this horse, Shadowfax, was the finest in a generation. Théoden had not been very pleased.

"Harry tried to transport himself into the throne room, and gained a large wound. I only got a glimpse of it before he disappeared, but it looked like it was in the shape of a giant hand. And then there is this." He spread the blood soaked black cloth flat on the floor of Theodred's chambers. It was unmistakeably in the shape of a giant hand.

Theodred sighed. The evidence was strong, and he had seen Harry transport himself impossible distances in just such a fashion many times before, and never once be wounded by it. The wizard himself had mentioned a phenomenon known as 'splinching' in which one part of the body was separated from another. The casual manner in which he regaled them of a tale in which he was learning how to transport himself in this manner along with fellow young wizards in which a young woman had to have her leg reattached unsettled even the strongest Rohirric stomachs, but he had said that it almost never happened to those practiced in the art of what he called 'apparition'.

"You're certain it was Saruman?" He asked, knowing the answer already.

"Yes, and I am certain that he works through Grima to debilitate the King. You've seen how your father has deteriorated since that greasy snake became his chief advisor! We must confront Wormtongue, for those reasons and for others." He said, his voice growing stronger and more fell as he spoke.

"Others?" Theodred said, suspecting and fearing the answer.

Eomer tried to speak for a moment, then nodded curtly at Eowyn. Theodred rubbed his eyes and said nothing. Eomer fidgeted. It was clear that he wanted to do nothing more than eviscerate Wormtongue where he stood.

"Very well. I had hoped it was not true, but now I see that Wormtongue must be dealt with, and Saruman that honey voiced traitor as well. We shall speak to my father, and hopefully the truth of our words shall pierce the darkness that surrounds him." Theodred stated. In his heart he knew that if this roll of the dice failed, then the ramifications would be great and terrible.

**Did you like my depiction of Theodred? I thought that he deserved more screen time as a living person as opposed to the dead/dying scenes he gets in the films.**


	9. Chapter 9: Revelations

**A/N: Another Earth based chapter this time, featuring Ginny. Be warned there be swearing ahead.**

Ginny Weasley stalked through the halls of Hogwarts castle. People stared and whispered as she passed. Stories passed around about the girl who had, albeit with assistance, survived duelling Bellatrix Lestrange, and shown herself to be a very skilled fighter indeed, as talented as she was beautiful. Others spoke of the well-known closeness between her and Harry, some sympathetically and others… not so much.

Harry. Even after 4 years she still loved him and missed him, even if she hated the fact he had left her behind. People urged her to move on, find someone else, to leave him behind. He was probably dead, they said, though not to her face after ex Minister Fudge, trying to be helpful and failing monumentally had told her that although he was a hero, he was probably dead and would never be found, and been the recipient of a particularly vicious bat bogey hex at a Ministry function soon after Harry's disappearance to celebrate the end of the war. Since Fudge's lack of tact was famed far and wide, there were no permanent injuries to anything but Fudge's dignity and it was assumed she was saddened by Harry's disappearance and thus not premeditated no charges were brought.

And then Rita Skeeter had come out _that _odious piece of crap she called an article, accusing her, Hermione and Ron, claiming a crime of passion due to Harry supposedly jilting her and getting together with Hermione. Hermione upon reading the article had hunted down and found Skeeter like a curly haired avenging angel, and threatened her with something. Ginny didn't know what, but whatever it was scared her enough to print a very public retraction. She noticed that Ron looked noticeably smug for a while afterwards, and beamed with pride whenever Hermione entered the room, but decided not pry assuming it was one of the secrets that the so called 'Golden Trio', an appellation attached by the Prophet, had accrued during their time at Hogwarts.

As time went on, interest faded, though it was resuscitated annually when celebrations were held on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and whenever anyone close to Harry turned up doing something relatively interesting, such as when Ron had joined the Auror office and Hermione had done a Doctorate at Oxford University, a sort of muggle qualification that was apparently very impressive, especially since she had attended Hogwarts. The last major spike had been when they got married, which warranted a double page spread in the Society pages, despite the fact it was a strictly private, family and friends only. Ginny didn't get it at all, especially since it was written by Rita Skeeter, who was subsequently outed by Hermione as an illegal animagus and she was put on trial for journalistic malpractice as well as being an illegal animagus. The day when she had gone in to give evidence had been very satisfying, to see the bitch who had ruined so many lives being unanimously condemned and sent to Azkaban.

And now, after 4 years she was going to the Headmistresses office. She wanted a chat with Dumbledore's portrait. A long chat. The portrait was widely accepted as being the last person to see Harry alive, as the trail stopped dead at the office, and neither Dumbledore or any of the other portraits, who had either been asleep or out, or in the case of Phineas Nigellus, pretending to be asleep but not admitting to anything.

She caught sight of Professor Slughorn, who was clearly proceeding towards the Great Hall for lunch early, wanting to get ahead of the rush.

"Professor Slughorn?" She called.

"Yes? Ah, Miss Weasely! How delightful to see you!" said the ever avuncular Potions Master, then his voice took on a sadder tone, and he said what she had known he was going to say, "I was so sorry to hear about Harry, he was such a good student, and so brave, just like his parents…"

Ginny fixed an understanding smile on her face and overruled the powerful urge to hex the man into next week.

"Actually Professor, I was going to ask for the password to the Headmistresses office. I wish to speak to her, but I don't have an appointment." She said, smiling apologetically.

"No problem m'dear-" Slughorn said then paused and asked suspiciously, "You want to talk to Dumbledore don't you? You're not going to set his portrait on fire or something like that?"

"I do want to speak to him, but no Professor, I won't." She said, mentally adding, _if he gives me a straight answer_.

"Well…" He looked doubtful, then darted a glance at the classrooms nearby, where there was evidence of movement as classes were finishing. "It's 'Who Dares Wins'. Now if you'll excuse m'dear, this old man needs his lunch." And with that he bustled off purposefully in the direction of the Great Hall.

Ginny walked up the stairs, running her hands along the bannisters and looking around. Patches of slightly newer stone stood out in places that had been blasted away by curses and scarred by spells. If she closed her eyes she could hear the screams and see the light of spell fire. She remembered it like it was yesterday. I probably always will, she thought sadly. Too many good people had died in that battle. In the main hall there was a plaque commemorating the fallen. Flowers were laid there. She remembered when it had been unveiled, paid for and unveiled by Draco Malfoy no less, who looked genuinely sad and had even more surprisingly passed on his commiserations about Harry to the Weasley's and Hermione. He had moved away before they had had time to respond. That had been a sad day.

By the time she was done reminiscing, she was standing in front of the gargoyles that guarded the Headmistresses study, muscle memory taking her to her destination along long trodden staircases and corridors.

"Who Dares Wins." She enunciated clearly and the gargoyles moved aside. She climbed the stairs and knocked on the office door.

"Come in." Came a familiar voice. When she entered she got a sudden feeling of Déjà vu, when she had tried to steal the sword of Gryffindor.

"Ah, Miss Weasely. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Said Professor McGonagall, a tinge of surprise in her voice. The office was much the same as in Dumbledore or Snape's time, the difference being it was short of the many whistling and tinkling devices that Dumbledore had owned and the many books that had declared what the Wizarding World now knew to be a façade of an interest in the Dark Arts in Snape's time. Now there were books on Transfiguration, history and photo's personal to their owner.

"Hello Professor McGonagall. I want to talk the portrait of Professor Dumbledore." She said, looking at the portrait in question, whose occupants eyes twinkled as merrily as they had in life.

"Oh. This is about the night Harry Potter disappeared isn't it?" McGonagall said tiredly. "You are very welcome to try, but he has been extremely cryptic with his answers. I've tried asking, the Minister has tried asking, all the teachers have tried asking, even Mr Malfoy came and asked, the same day he unveiled the plaque in the Great Hall. If he doesn't answer cryptically, he disappears to one of his other portraits. I'm positive there's at least one we don't know about, as the Minister tried to corner him once, putting people on every known painting. That didn't work. He got all of them in here. That still didn't work. And again, he isn't telling anyone about it."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "I would just like to try Professor. Do you mind if I do this alone? I think he might talk more if I'm alone. And I cannot guarantee whether what I am going to say will be entirely wholesome if he is unhelpful." Professor McGonagal paused, then nodded.

"I was just going to lunch anyway. And I must say I would not blame you if you used foul language. Albus always had a knack for frustrating people." She got up and walked out.

Ginny sat down and looked at Dumbledore for a moment. He looked back, eyes twinkling, and revealing nothing, until after a few long moments he said, "I hope you are going to say something, otherwise this will be a very boring conversation indeed."

"I want you to tell me everything that you know about Harry's disappearance. Where he went and why he went. Even when he went if he used a time turner or something. I don't want whatever you told the Ministry, I want the truth about the man I love and what happened to him." Ginny said quietly and firmly.

"The truth. It is a beautiful and dangerous thing and must be kept with care, Miss Weasley. Even hidden by misdirection and lies if necessary, something you were no doubt going to challenge me on. I shall go and confer with two other acquaintances. Minerva was quite right when she said that I had at least one other portrait, though in fact I have two. I shall only be about 20 minutes. Please make yourself comfortable." Dumbledore replied slowly, then disappeared.

She sat down and watched the clock, fidgeting slightly. Sure enough, 20 minutes later he returned, smiling. "My acquaintances and I have agreed the time is right to tell you and select others the truth. Mr Ronald Weasley and his wife Mrs Hermione Granger, so lovely that she kept her name after marriage, will be here shortly, as I asked the Minister from my portrait in his office to send them over, and I shall tell Minerva when they arrive - which if I know Minerva well enough and estimate the time it takes to get from the Ministry to Hogwarts correctly – will be at roughly the same time.

And indeed, Minerva McGonagall arrived, and noted the fact that Ginny was not in fact swearing loudly at Dumbledore, but regarding the portrait thoughtfully.

"Has he said anything Miss Weasley?" she asked quietly.

"He said he's about to tell us the truth because according to some acquaintances near the two portraits you don't know about, the time is right. He's just asked Ron and Hermione to join us. He wants them to hear as well apparently." Ginny said calmly.

Professor McGonagall looked at her sharply, but could not discern a joke at anyone's expense, just honesty and a deeply hidden pain that touched the Professor. She too knew what it was like to love someone and lose them, in this case to a bomb during World War II.

"You had better not be joking Albus." She said, turning and glaring at the portrait.

"Of course not Minerva, even if the truth will be a little difficult to believe." Dumbledore replied serenely.

She frowned suspiciously at the portrait, then heard the sound of feet coming up the stairs. Mr Weasley and Mrs Granger, she thought. And indeed it was them, both looking rather puzzled.

"You wanted to see us Professor McGonagall?" Ron asked.

"No, Professor Dumbledore did. Your sister seems to have managed, God alone knows how, to get him to reveal how Harry Potter disappeared, where he went and why he went."

Ron started as he realised that his sister was in the room with them, and she gave him a small smile and a little wave.

"I wanted to know." She said, shrugging apologetically. Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Approximately 2 months after Lord Voldemort's death, Harry came to me, wanting to talk about his troubles. When I suggested he talk to his friends, he pointed out there were some things he wasn't ready to talk about yet, and since I was technically a painting, he was therefore pretty much talking to a wall." Ron and Hermione shared a grin. That sounded very like Harry. "There are two things you need to accept to understand this. Mrs Granger, are you familiar with the concept of the Multiverse?"

Hermione looked very surprised, then nodded hesitantly, and said, "I am Professor, and I would prefer it if you called me Hermione."

"Very well Hermione. Would you like to explain the concept of the multiverse to your husband and sister in law who both appear to be a little confused? The short version I think." Dumbledore replied courteously.

"Okay. Each choice we make has consequences, yes?" Hermione said. Ron and Ginny nodded. "When anyone makes a choice, there is another they could have made, creating an alternate timeline. Every possibility has its own universe, some barely different, some massively so. Before now it was only a likely but intriguing theory, but if I get Professor Dumbledore's meaning correctly, it does exist and Harry has gone to another universe, which is supposed to be impossible."

"Correct Hermione, very well summarised and deduced. Professor Lupin was right when he called you the cleverest witch of your generation." Dumbledore said with a smile, causing Hermione to blush.

"This particular world is known as Middle Earth, or Arda Marred after the damage wrought by their first Dark Lord. I originally sent Harry for a few months, to meet people who knew nothing about him and so wouldn't judge him, to get away from the his own legend for a while. Magic is uncommon, with only 3 known wizards none of whom are strictly human, and a few other sorcerers of various types and others with innate powers of a different form entirely, such as the Elves. It is also rather mediaeval world, with swords and arrows being the chief weapons. But that is another matter. Just before he was due to return, the local powers interceded, beings known as the Valar. The most accurate analogy would be Archangels, and they spoke to me and told me that since most powerful wizard had turned to evil in support of a fearsomely dangerous Dark Lord, and the weakest sought only to protect the flora and fauna of the world, they needed a counterbalance. Harry. I protested, and said that surely he had been through enough."

Dumbledore here looked sad and regretful, then his face darkened. "After I protested, they showed me the future of the world without Harry… and it was more terrible than anything Voldemort could have devised. Far more terrible. Entire races enslaved, tortured, murdered, because Harry was not there to protect the one who would destroy the heart of the Dark Lord Sauron's power, a golden ring, much like an infinitely more dangerous version of Voldemort's horcruxes, which were as you know well, dangerous enough."

Here he fixed Hermione and Ron with a penetrating stare. "In all conscience I could not allow that to happen. However I made a deal. In return for Harry saving their world, I would be allowed to send him assistance and confer with the great Elven Lords, Elves being much like humans, but with the dubious gift of immortality -save for grief and death in battle- eternal youth, and with far greater strength, resilience and agility than any man and have an unusual magic of their own. They were by no means more intelligent, or less prone to mistakes than humanity, but with age comes wisdom. The elves mostly keep themselves to themselves, as their time in that world is ending, but are still a force to be reckoned with. The Valar created portraits that I could travel to and counsel the greatest Lords and Ladies of their kind, the Lord Elrond, who is himself part human, and the Lady Galadriel."

"So that's where you went when the Minister tried to corral you." McGonagall said dryly.

"Exactly so Minerva," Dumbledore said, his smile returned. "And the assistance is you 3." He said, his eyes sweeping over Hermione, Ron and Ginny, "because you three will work with Harry, rather than return him with his task undone, as the Ministry might, and you will also provide him with a degree of moral support and understanding that a team of anonymous aurors would not.

Ron looked at his sister and his wife and saw nothing but agreement in their eyes. "When do we leave?" He asked.

"Oh, and before we talk tactics and logistics Miss Weasley, according to my own reckoning and the observations of Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, or more accurately the Lord Elrond's daughter Arwen and Lady Galadriel, Harry only has eyes for you." Dumbledore said kindly.

Ginny gasped. She had hoped it were true, but even if he had been alive she had worried he would have moved on. She felt her brother's reassuring grip on her shoulder. She nodded and said, "Thank you Professor. Thank you very much."

And so preparations were made, and the side of Good played their first pieces. As Gandalf had said, the board was set, and the pieces were moving.

**Fulsome congratulations to Sharnorasian Empire, who guessed partially my plans. Now, click the little button down there…**


	10. Chapter 10: The Two Trees and One Gate

**A/N: This one is a little further AU, and features something that is implied if not stated in the HP books, that Harry is related, however distantly, to Godric Gryffindor. Since Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin, and both are descended from different parts of the Peveril line, as well as Ignotus Peveril (Harry's ancestor) being buried in Godric's Hollow, where Harry was born, it seems too good to miss.**

**I also always wondered why Bill only appeared when he was being set free, and have given it a humorous poke here.**

The fires had burned out, and little was left of the wargs and Legolas' arrows, leaving him with only about 5. At the elf's pointed stare, Harry had duplicated another 50, partially to annoy Legolas as they barely fit in his quiver.

Pippin had found out if the ash was cool enough to walk on by absently wandering over it and examining the scorched warg corpses as Sam cooked breakfast. Boromir was sitting on a burnt tree stump and carefully cleaning and sharpening his sword. He looked up briefly when Aragorn came and sat down beside him, but did nothing further to acknowledge the Ranger's presence. Aragorn merely got out his pipe and lit it, puffing out small clouds of smoke. Boromir wrinkled his nose slightly at the smoke, but said nothing, continuing to sharpen his sword with the same smooth strokes of his whetstone.

"You saved my life last night, for that you have my undying thanks." Aragorn said slowing, taking another puff from his pipe. "But I detected something more. The intensity… as if you had faced wargs before, and failed to save someone."

Boromir cursed and his hand slipped, slicing into his thumb. He swore and stuck his thumb in his mouth, dropping his sword with a thump. How had that Ranger read his mind so easily? he thought furiously. Aragorn waited patiently for Boromir's answer, which was slow and stilted.

"I was sent to Rohan, to learn the art of fighting on horseback from the best. I was 17 and hadn't seen any real fighting before and was excited; looking for tales of battle, maybe even a sight or story of the legendary Captain Thorongil. Of course, if he wasn't dead then, he surely is now."

So absorbed was he in his tale that he did not notice Aragorn nearly drop his pipe, an understandable reaction considering he _was_ Thorongil, and alias he had used fighting for King Thengel and Steward Ecthelion. That identity was dead now, but its ghost still had memories, good and bad.

"They partnered me with a veteran called… I forget his name; it was so long ago now, I think it was quite short and started with the letter T. Anyway, he was a very big man, with a luxurious red beard and he preferred to wield a massive hammer in combat. I will never know how he lifted the bloody thing." Boromir chuckled darkly.

"His job was to keep an eye on me, correct me if I went wrong. We were on patrol when we were assaulted by warg riders. One was coming straight for me, death in the form of a massive tawny coloured beast with a mouthful of enormous fangs, its rider screaming murder and… I froze. I was going to die at the age of 17 at the teeth of a warg. It was then my protector got involved, staving the creature's skull in with one blow of that hammer of his, and in its death throes it knocked him and its rider from the saddle. The orc recovered first and ran him through while he was trying to get up. All this happened in a matter of moments. Once it had killed him, it looked up at me and… it laughed. That was when something within me snapped. I drew my sword and swiped its head off in one blow."

Boromir said quietly, and drew breath to finish his story, "When we returned to Edoras, I ensured his body was treated with the highest honour, and I gave his family as much money as I could. He left behind a widow and two sons. The oldest and the mother soon died of illness with no living relatives. So I had the youngest adopted by a well to do merchant's family in Gondor. He serves in the Palace Guard now, and I have never been able to look him in the eye. Because I failed to save his father, a brave man and a comrade out of my own cowardice. Maybe I will be able to now. And while I do not think Gondor needs her King, you are a brave man and my comrade." He stood and clapped his hand on Aragorn's shoulder, collecting his sword.

"Boromir. You are not and have never been a coward. You would not be the first or last man to freeze in their first battle. I was one of them, and I am no coward." Aragorn said calmly, continuing to smoke while looking Boromir straight in the eye. The other man nodded jerkily, and slammed his newly sharpened sword into its scabbard. Aragorn puffed thoughtfully. There was rather more to Boromir than he had previously seen.

"I see you've been counselling our Gondorian friend." Came an amused voice from right behind him. Only through long experience of elves and their uncanny ability to sneak up on people did he restrain himself from jumping in surprise.

"You're silencing your feet again." He replied levelly.

"Yes I am. A very useful trick indeed, especially when hunting orcs. With wargs it makes no difference, they can smell you from a mile off." Harry said, sitting down on the recently vacated stump.

"I did not know he was hiding something that big though." Harry added thoughtfully. "I knew there was something on his mind, but it was hard to tell what with the Ring tempting him and all."

"I knew." Aragorn said, then added with a sly grin. "As to how, you'll learn when you grow up."

Then he yelped. He was currently hanging by his ankle in mid-air, which was something of a new experience for him.

"How did you do that? I didn't see your lips or your wand move." Aragorn gasped. A pair of amused, dancing green eyes appeared in his somewhat restricted field of view.

"You'll learn." Harry paused deliberately. "When you're older." As he sauntered back to the fire, peals of laughter broke out from all those watching.

"I think Aragorn that you have learnt never to meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are mischievous and not very subtle." Legolas said in between his chuckles.

"Aye laddie, the elf has it right." Gimli said with a grin.

"Since when did you two start conspiring against me?" Aragorn lamented plaintively, as his face began to turn bright red.

Gandalf stood up, and said, "As amusing as this is, we still have many miles to cover if we wish to reach Moria by nightfall, and we cannot do that if one of the party is hanging in mid-air."

"Couldn't we just pull him along behind us?" Pippin asked curiously.

"No, Peregrin Took!" And Gandalf stomped off muttering about Hobbits and lack of propriety, pausing only to break Harry's enchantment, setting Aragorn down again with a thump.

The rest of the Fellowship exchanged looks, then burst into laughter once more. Once the moment of levity was over however, they cleared up the camp, not bothering to remove the evidence of their presence. Anyone following them would find a large clearing of burnt trees a little hard to miss.

They trekked across mixed terrain, sometimes rocky, sometimes grassy, much to the relief of the Hobbits. Harry looked to be deep in thought, as did Boromir, the two once more covering the rear.

Soon afterwards they reached the walls of Moria, which, Harry thought, looked much like any other cliffs, and were flanked by two old trees. Being made of Holly, they made Harry's wand start vibrating, causing him to let out a startled yelp. The Fellowship turned as one to see the formerly unflappable wizard pull out his wand, which was vibrating rapidly and stare at it, and then examine the trees.

"What type of tree is this Gandalf?" he asked.

"They're Holly trees, planted to repel evil from these lands and as a symbol of the two trees of Valinor. They would have been planted by Celebrimbor of Hollin, when he worked among the dwarves." This last was aimed rather pointedly at Gimli and Legolas.

"It was not the fault of the elves that the relationship failed." Legolas said with a touch of asperity.

"I heard it was not the fault of the dwarves." Gimli grumbled.

"And now you are on the quest together, you can seek to repair the relationship." Gandalf snapped, reprimanding the two as if they were children, afterwards turning to Harry.

"I take it your wand is made of the same wood?"

Harry nodded. "I remember Lady Galadriel talked of the trees once, one of silver and one of gold, right?"

"Yes, before Ungoliant killed them, eating their light." Gandalf confirmed, wondering where this was going.

Harry simply turned, deep in thought for moment. Then he waved his wand at one tree whispering, "Lumos Aurum," then at the other, "Lumos Argentum." In response the two trees flashed, then glowed with a gentle light, gold and silver respectively.

Gandalf chuckled. "Very impressive Harry. And at least this time they didn't catch fire."

Legolas smiled softly at the light, and Gimli clapped saying, "You are full of surprises Master Wizard."

Aragorn gently touched the silver tree, and looked surprised as his tunic was overlaid with the tree and seven stars of Gondor, embossed in silver light. He looked startled at Harry, who shrugged, and said, "That one wasn't me."

"I suspect it was the original enchantments tree recognising Aragorn's heritage. Celebrimbor always liked to leave unusual enchantments on his creations, and I suspect this is one of his." Gandalf said. Once more Boromir looked slightly uneasy.

Harry reached out a hand and touched the tree of gold. Light leapt from the tree and materialised on his chest, in the shape of a rampant Lion.

"That is a Lion," Aragorn breathed, still touching the silver tree. "I saw one during my travels in the south, a magnificent creature indeed. What significance does it have to you?"

"At my school, there were 4 houses, one for each founder. Slytherin, with the sign of a green and silver snake. They prized ambition, resourcefulness, an affinity for breaking the rules and cunning. Not necessarily a bad thing, but a lot of dark wizards, not all, but most, came from Slytherin. Ravenclaw, a blue and bronze eagle. They prized cleverness and quick wits. Hufflepuff, a yellow and black badger. They prized hard work and loyalty, and were generally seen as the least important house, which was far from true."

Harry sighed. "When there was a tournament in my 4th year, those of age could enter and a magical device called the Goblet of Fire would choose the best qualified, and it chose a Hufflepuff. It chose me as well, but I had been put under a separate category by a madman who used me to unwilling resurrect his master and my nemesis. But that is another story. Finally, my House, Gryffindor, a red and gold lion, whose founder might have been one of my ancestors. We prized bravery and daring. Students who joined the school put on the Sorting Hat, a wizards hat that had been granted the ability to assess the students and chose which house they would go to. It took your wishes into account though, and it wasn't always right. The bravest man I ever knew was a Slytherin, and two of the cleverest people I have ever known were- no, are, Gryffindors. My mentor, Professor Dumbledore and my friend, Hermione."

"It seems as if everyone on this quest has a famous lineage," Gandalf said dryly, "Boromir descendant from the line of stewards and Numenor, Aragorn and Legolas, descendants of Kings, Gimli descended from mighty Dwarf Lords, and all of the Hobbits are descended from Bandobras the Bullroarer in one fashion or another and various Thain's of Buckland to boot. Now, if you lot have had enough of staring at the trees, we have ground to cover once we enter the mines." The Fellowship groaned slightly, and sat down in anticipation of rest. Gimli was rhapsodising about the doors to Moria, saying, "Often the doors were so well hidden that you could not see them if you did not know where to look!"

"This would account for why, more often than not, their owners forgot where they were." Legolas sniped quietly, drawing stifled giggles from Merry and Pippin.

"Be quiet! You can both help me by looking for the door. You too, Harry. Harry?" Gandalf said, looking over at the younger wizard, who was giving the pool of dark, still and disturbing water a thoughtful look.

"Hmm?" he replied vaguely.

"Could you help us find the door instead of staring into that pool as if you expect to find your heart's desire?" Gandalf said irritably. His mood softened slightly when he saw Harry freeze at the words 'heart's desire'.

"There was an object, a mirror, which showed you your heart's desire." Harry said quietly. "Men would apparently go mad staring at it and pining for what they could not have. The Mirror of Erised showed me my family surrounding me. I was only 11, so that would have probably changed." He shook himself, and added in a normal tone of voice. "I'm not that good at finding things, but," he shrugged and waved his wand, muttering "_Revelio_." The Fellowship waited with bated breath, but nothing happened.

"It is as I suspected." Gandalf said, no longer looking at the cliff face, but at the night sky, in which the moon was rising. Soon a beam of moonlight lit up the cliff face, and a door formed, outlined in silver light with intricate spirals and elegantly written Quenya script at the top.

"It mirrors starlight and moonlight: The words mean, 'The Doors Durin, Lord of Moria: Speak friend, and enter'." Gandalf continued, not fazed in the slightest.

"And what does that mean?" Merry asked.

"Well it is quite simple, if you are a friend you speak the password and the doors will open." Gandalf said, examining the door.

"Cockroach cluster." Harry said with a grin. Unsurprisingly the doors failed to open.

Gimli turned and asked, exasperated, "And what was that about laddie?"

"It was one of the many passwords to my Headmasters office, and a sweet in the Wizarding world." Harry said, unabashed. "I figured it was worth a try."

"Harry, what worked in your world is unlikely to work here." Gandalf said patiently.

"My magic does." Harry replied.

"Yes but-"

"And the door is magic."

"Yes but-"

"So it has a reasonable chance of working, does it not?"

"I doubt Celebrimbor or any of the Lords of Moria had an interest in sweets from your world."

"Do you know that for certain?"

"Yes. I knew each and every one of them personally."

"Oh. You should have mentioned." Harry said admonishingly.

Gandalf opened his mouth, then shut it again. When Harry was being this irreverent it was best just to ignore him. He turned back to the door and began speaking words and phrases in Quenya. Harry smirked, while the Hobbits sniggered and Aragorn rolled his eyes and began to smoke his pipe.

After some time, he moved over to Sam, and patted Bill, removing his bridle and saying gently, "The mines are no place for a pony, even one so brave as Bill."

"Bye-bye Bill." Sam whispered, and the now unburdened pony walked purposefully away at Aragorn's urging, hopefully, Sam thought, to Rivendell.

"Don't worry Sam. He knows the way home." Aragorn said consolingly. He was then surprised when Harry stood up and moved to intercept Bill, taking his bridle and tapping him on the head, causing the pony to slowly disappear. Harry patted the space where Bill had been, and if Aragorn looked carefully, he could see movement.

"Disillusionment charm. It should make it a little easier for him to get back home, and it wears off eventually." Harry greeted them.

"Thanks Harry." Sam said quietly. Harry nodded, and sat down again, lost in thought.

Merry meanwhile was staring moodily at the still and ominous waters of the Mirrormere. Staring at the glowing trees was an activity that soon caused boredom, unless one was Legolas, who was examining them constantly. On an impulse, he picked up a reasonably sized stone and lobbed it into the water with a loud splash, and then another. Pippin made to follow suit, and they were both about to continue before Aragorn caught Pippin's arm and hissed, "Do not disturb the water." The two turned away, slightly reluctantly as Gandalf continued chanting in various languages at the door, and Harry was staring at a medium sized rock, and muttering, occasionally tapping it with his wand as the two trees glowed softly.

Time passed, and Gandalf sat down, hurling his staff aside. "Oh it is useless."

Frodo peered at the script, and then asked tentatively, "Gandalf, what is the elven word for friend?"

"_Mellon._" Gandalf solemnly intoned, and the doors opened, and the Fellowship scrambled to their feet as behind them something moved in the water.

"Ah. It was a riddle." He said.

"Statement of the blindingly obvious." Harry muttered, as he stretched. Legolas, who was the only who heard him, laughed softly.

The entry to Moria was cold, dank, dusty and dirty, which seemed to go unnoticed by Gimli who was off in his own little world and saying derisively, "They call it a mine. A _mine_!"

Boromir popped his bubble rather sharply, looking around in horror as he said, "This is no mine… this is a tomb."

The skeletons of dwarf warriors in armour littered the atrium, and black arrows were scattered everywhere.

"No. NOOOO!" Gimli, bubble popped, moaned in utter despair. Meanwhile Legolas picked one of the arrows out of the walls, examined it for a moment, then hurled it away like it was a poisonous snake.  
"Goblins." He hissed.

"We should never have come here! We should make for the Gap of Rohan!" Boromir said, apparently on the point of panicking. Before Aragorn or Gandalf could reply, the Watcher made its move.

"SAM!" Frodo screamed as he was hauled off his feet by a tentacle. The valiant gardener sprang to his master's defence, drawing his sword and hacking at the tentacles, and was joined by Boromir and Aragorn, while Harry fired an ineffectual stunner at the creature, not being possessed of a sword. Aragorn cleaved the tentacle holding Frodo in two and Boromir caught him.

"Legolas, Harry, now!" Aragorn yelled as soon as they clear. Legolas fired an arrow and Harry called, "Sectumsempra," slashing his wand at the beast, then flicking his wand at the trees, which suddenly glowed with incandescent glory, causing the beast to shy away briefly, letting the Fellowship escape into Moria.

It was a pyrrhic victory however, as the Watcher lashed out with its tentacles, collapsing the entrance to the mines. After a few moments, Gandalf started a light in the crystal of his staff, which Harry answered with a _Lumos_, partially lighting their path.

"We shall pass through the Long Dark of Moria. There older and fouler things than orcs in the depths of the world." Gandalf paused for a beat, then added grimly, "Let us hope our presence may go unnoticed."

Harry lifted his invisibility cloak from his pack, and tied it to his belt, then moved his elven dagger, seldom used these days, to within easier reach. He had a feeling that he might need both before this was over.


	11. Chapter 11: Moria 1

**Tilly Unlivale: Well, that was quite the impassioned tirade. One, Gandalf, Elrond etc don't actually know that Harry was sent to help by the Valar. Gandalf just said that to piss off Boromir and get him to back down. Two, as mentioned later, Dumbledore really doesn't have any choice in the matter, and manages to secure some help for Harry. Never fear, things look up for our hurting hero. And you're being a little harsh on the Valar. Sure, they can be jerks, but they do what they have to so they can protect their world.**

It was a long trek through Moria, in utmost silence and minimal light. Legolas looked thoroughly uneasy, occasionally hugging himself when he thought no one was looking. It was patently obvious that the Elf was not used to caves aside from the large and roomy ones that formed the palace of Mirkwood, which were less caves and more a natural… well, palace, making Malfoy Manor look non-descript. Harry stopped and listened for a moment. Nothing.

He walked a little further and then stopped sharply. Something was following them, and doing it well. There had barely been a slight discrepancy between him stopping and the creature stopping, meaning that for a moment he heard its footsteps unmasked by his own. Pre-Middle Earth Harry would most likely not have picked up on it. However, if you hunt dark creatures for long enough and your senses sharpen and you develop a 6th sense, Harry mused. Boromir was giving him an inquisitive look.

"Something's following us, and I have a shrewd idea what. I just wanted to hear its footsteps. I'm going to have a word with Legolas."

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Why not Gandalf or Aragorn?"

"Both almost certainly know that it is following us, and both probably know exactly what it is. Plus, it will keep Legolas from his acute claustrophobia."

Boromir gave him another odd look, and once he deciphered the meaning behind the words, nodded. "What is it Harry?"

"I'm not entirely sure. I want a second opinion from someone who knows it, if it is what I think it is, and it will distract him from his surroundings."

"Or make him more aware of them."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." Harry said, catching up with the faintly glowing elf.

"Legolas." He said softly. The elf did not change his pace, but cocked his head slightly to indicate that he was paying attention.

"There is something following us, and it's been doing so since about 15 minutes after we arrived here. Can you hear it or sense it?"

Legolas turned his head around, listening carefully in the direction of an ill-intentioned presence on the edge of perception.

"Aye, it is the creature Gollum." He said flatly. "The one I was sworn to imprison and escaped, causing many of my comrades to be killed."

Harry winced. He hadn't heard about that particular incident, and doubted Legolas's father Thranduil would have been particularly amused about that. And Thranduil was not an elf to cross, as many had found out to their peril. Even Smaug had been unwilling to bother him, though that may have had something to do with him being occupied by his enormous treasure horde. He had met Thranduil briefly whilst recovering from a poisoned wound caused by an ill-advised close range fight with one of the 9, and assessed him as 'old, powerful, dangerous, intimidating, not to be flippant at'.

"I thought so," Harry said, nodding, "He's drawn to Frodo and the Ring, isn't he." That was not so much a question as a statement. Legolas nodded, then spoke quietly:

"I hate dark caves."

Harry eyed him, surprised. "You _live _in one. It's big and decorated, sure, but it's dark enough in places."

"No, the Palace is never dark, or at least, not like this where the darkness feels malevolent. As if it has come to hate all those who walk under the sun with an unknowable intensity." Legolas said sombrely.

Harry raised an eyebrow, and narrowly avoided tripping over a stone, causing Legolas to snicker softly. Harry shot him a dirty look, then asked, "Why do you hate caves so much?"

Legolas sighed, and looked around him for a moment, then at last spoke with a degree of reluctance in his voice. "When I was a young elf, barely old enough to learn the arts of war, I was gifted a pair of knives by my father." He gestured at the two well maintained and lethally sharp weapons that framed his quiver in an x shape.

"As all young ones do at some point, I sought to test myself in real combat, against a mighty foe to prove my strength, but my father sensibly kept under close observation. One evening my father's butler, Galion, was the one keeping an eye on me, and had, and still has, a reputation for not being one for holding his drink very well."

"You mean like when my father and Bilbo Baggins snuck past yon wee butler because he was drunk out o' his skull?" Gimli interjected, smiling smugly, though it was tempered with his ever present grief for his family and friends.

Legolas favoured him with a half-hearted glare and said, "Indeed Master Dwarf, but your father and his friends were the ones who had the lack of sense to be caught in the first place."

Gimli nodded, and surprisingly didn't seek to escalate the argument, though he had been decidedly subdued since they had entered Moria for obvious reasons.

Legolas shot him a surprised and sympathetic look, then continued. "Galion got deeply into his cups on Dorwinion which I had given to him saying it was a weak wine flavoured with Dorwinion, and I was able to sneak out while he was singing something about '4 and 20 maidens down from Imladris'."

Harry stifled an outburst of laughter. He had heard something similar when he and Aragorn had got drunk with Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir. Glorfindel in particular made very amusing hand gestures to accompany the singing.

"I take it you know the song," Legolas said, amused. Harry just grinned and nodded, so Legolas continued.

"I armed myself and wandered into the lower caves, the ones untamed by my people where orcs and giant spiders still resided. In my arrogance I was ambushed by a party of orcs supported by spiders which cocooned me in their silk. They talked of doing things…"

Legolas shuddered, "horrible things, to me. Even nearly 3000 years on I cannot speak of them. Soon my father started searching for me, and when he arrived he singlehandedly sent at least 40 _yrch _to the Void, along with countless spiders. In the chaos I escaped, and managed to dispatch a few unwary _yrch_ and spiders, and to be truthful I was more worried about my father's anger and disappointment. Instead, he just hugged me very tightly, and told me never to scare him like that again. I was confined to my rooms for a while, but my father seemed to think that I had learnt my lesson." Legolas smiled slightly.

"And you still haven't learnt it Thranduilion." Gandalf grumbled. "I hear tales of you taking on 20 orcs with naught but your bow, five arrows and a fruit knife."

"A fruit knife properly applied is a deadly weapon in its own right." Legolas replied loftily, to muted laughter from the rest of the Fellowship.

"Is that why I caught you fighting an imaginary enemy with it one night?" Aragorn said dryly. "You defeated your enemy soundly I'm sure, but I doubt that real orcs would be so obliging."

Soft laughter once again infused the air as the tension of the last few days was released. Even Gandalf was smiling, albeit somewhat grimly.

"As amusing as this is, we must be silent. There are dangerous things in these mines." Gandalf said ominously.

"I'll be one of them if I don't get to eat something soon." Harry muttered in a carrying tone. The Hobbits suddenly perked up at the possibility of food, while Aragorn rolled his eyes.

Gandalf skewered the young wizard with a glare, then looked at the well-practised and maintained pitiful looks on the hobbits faces, and then said, "There is a fork in our route up ahead. We can stop there for rest and refreshments." The Fellowship let out a collective sigh of relief. They had been marching for 8 hours without rest and Pippin in particular looked as if he was on the point of collapsing from fatigue and hunger.

The Fellowship arrived at their appointed resting place. One thing Gandalf had neglected to mention was that the path forking at this point meant that he wasn't sure which fork to take, because, as he testily pointed out when Pippin and Boromir loudly wondered if he had forgotten the way, come through in the opposite direction.

Harry was roused from his deep slumber to see if he knew anything.

"I've never been here before." Harry said flatly, "How the hell would I know?"

"What's Hell?" Boromir asked, puzzled at Harry's choice of idiom.

"The Void." Harry said shortly.

"Anyway, the only spell I know that might points where the exit is from here, not which route to take. So if it pointed down the right fork because that was roughly where the exit was in relation to here, it could still be a dead end."

"Try it anyway." Aragorn said reasonably.

Harry looked exasperated, but said "Point me exit." His wand spun and pointed back the way they had come. Harry flushed slightly, and amended, "Point me eastern gate." The wand spun for a moment… then pointed straight in between the two.

"Well that wasn't helpful." Pippin said after an embarrassed silence.

Harry just sat back and apparently went straight to sleep. The awkward tableau of the Fellowship continued, each relaxing in one form or another, except for Gimli who was brooding, Gandalf who was trying to remember his path through the mines and Frodo who had yet another reason to be paranoid when he looked over the edge of the Fellowship's outcrop and saw the unmistakeable pale shape of Gollum crawling slowly but surely up the cliff face. He backed away sharply, and turned to Gandalf anxiously, saying, "Gandalf, something is following us!"

"I know. It is the creature, Gollum. As Harry and I had noticed, he has been following us for some time, from when we entered Moria. He follows us because he loves and hates the Ring as he loves and hates himself." Gandalf replied slowly, without turning his head.

Frodo's expression took a darker turn, "Bilbo should have killed him when he had the chance. He is a pitiful creature."

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. I feel he still has a part to play for good or ill in this quest. If he needs to be killed, I have no doubt that Legolas would gladly do so, and I doubt Harry would object to doing the deed. Not yet though. Among other things, it took Aragorn's full skill and concentration to find Gollum last time when he chose to hide, and it was not in a dark and deadly mine. We cannot waste that time or risk disturbing the creatures that most likely infest these caves."

Frodo looked a little unhappy, but understood, as Boromir broke the tension suddenly let out a loud snore, which was met with a stinging hex from Harry, who appeared to operating on automatic in his sleep. As Boromir rubbed his arm where the hex had hit in a bemused fashion, Harry rolled over and continued his slumber. Boromir looked at the surprised Fellowship and asked plaintively.

"What did I do?"

**Rohan**

Eomer struggled into his finest clothes, and glared at his cousin, who, unlike him, was perfectly at ease in what Eomer saw as frivolous, impractical and uncomfortably tight clothing and was enjoying himself at Eomer's expense.

"Remind me again. _Why_ are _these_ clothes necessary?"

"Because, dear cousin, as I have explained a thousand times before, formal wear will impress upon the King the need for action. Especially if you, who are renowned for favouring armour and practical shirts and breeches, are wearing it. If you do not like your current clothes, I'm sure Eowyn could lend you some. Mind you, the sight of you in a dress that's bursting at the seams may cause father to die of shock."

Eomer turned and glared at his dryly amused cousin. "Unlike you or Master Potter-" he grunted suddenly as his arms got stuck in his shirt, eliciting a snicker from Theodred. "I am not as thin as a new born foal. Or as gawky." In his heart Eomer knew that this was an unfair description of both parties.

Theodred had the powerful muscles of a horseman, and the build of a particularly sinewy blacksmith, wielding unexpected strength. Harry had the lean, dense muscle of a runner and one skilled in hand to hand combat. The dense muscle and unusual haunted green eyes that sparkled when their owner was happy, had caught Eowyn's eye, and those of many other women, both noble and common, until he had politely explained that he was 'with' someone, and as beautiful as each and every one of them was (since at least one of the noble women had a face like a horses arse, Eomer presumed that Harry was a much better liar than he let on), he was not interested and that they should direct their attentions to other, young, handsome and elegible bachelors.

Since he had made this announcement in public, he had pointed to Theodred and Eomer who had been previously laughing riotously at his predicament. With a wicked grin he had said that both were looking for female companionship due to loneliness, and apparently 'needed some love'. Both had promptly been the subject of a number of worryingly calculating stares by the womenfolk of Rohan, then deluged by potential suitors while Harry watched, merrily taking bets from the Palace guards and eventually the King himself, who looked reluctantly amused by the spectacle. He had later, with a twinkle in his eye and a smile struggling to break free, told them sternly that they were poor military commanders if they could not escape such an admittedly ingenious ambush, while Harry counted his impressive winnings and eavesdropped. According to his own testimony, he'd had practice at spotting the most likely victors.

Eomer worried about his friend. Few men took such terrible injuries without dying or being crippled permanently. He finished dressing and strode out the door, to see his sister waiting patiently in full regalia. Both for the sake of his sister and for Harry. And to see that Wormtongue squirm like he was a true worm on a hook and return his uncle to his full faculties. But they were secondary concerns by comparison. Eomer son of Eomund, 3rd marshal of the Mark always protected his friends. If he couldn't protect them, by the blood of his ancestors he would avenge them. As his cousin joined him, he rolled his shoulders to stretch tense muscles. He recalled an odd word Harry had used once that seemed rather appropriate. Ah yes. _Showtime_.

**I originally planned one big Moria chapter, but it would have been ridiculously long, especially with the Rohan subplot tacked on. So blame the Rohirrim. It's all their fault. Also, since does not like line breaks, I've had to make do with a make shift solution. Sorry.**


	12. Chapter 12: Moria to Rivendell to Rohan

**A/N: T rating for two uses of the F-word and Grima's dirty mind (seriously, it makes me feel greasy to write him). A monster chapter to make up for the wait.**

Harry had woken up and apologised to Boromir, then transfigured a rock into a sandwich of some sort and started eating it by the time Gandalf discovered the path to take.

"Ah. It's this way."

"He's remembered." Merry sighed with relief.

"No, it's just that the air this way smells less foul. When in doubt master Brandybuck, always follow your nose."

"Tell a hobbit to do that and we will unfailingly find our objective. As long as it happens to be near a large amount of food." Harry muttered with a good natured grin.

Pippin nodded happily. "Unlike the Big Folk, we hobbits have our priorities in order."

Aragorn snorted quietly. "Among those priorities being 7 square meals a day."

"8, in the case of Merry and Pippin." Frodo said softly, the first time he had spoken since Gollum's appearance.

"We're growing young Hobbits!" Merry said defensively.

"Yes, you're growing all right. Sideways." Harry deadpanned.

"Says the man the height and shape of a tall man's rake!" Merry retorted.

"Chubby!"

"Skinny!"

"Eru save us, you 3 are like small children!" Aragorn said, clearly exasperated and amused in equal measure.

"He started it," all 3 said in unison. After a moment they shared a long look and burst into honest to goodness carefree laughter.

Aragorn simply shook his head and walked away, fervently hoping that any children he had with Arwen would be far better behaved. Still, it was good that there was some laughter in this place of horror and darkness. Harry, Merry and Pippin, still giggling softly, followed the rest of the Fellowship, who to a humanoid had benevolently exasperated expressions on their faces.

Soon the Fellowship entered the main hall of Moria. Gandalf increased the brightness of his light, with Harry following suit with a bemused look on his face that vanished when he saw the columns.

"Merlin's _beard_." He breathed.

The party turned as one to the two people they knew who had a propensity for collecting odd names, Aragorn and Gandalf.

"He was a legendary wizard from my world," Harry said, catching the looks on their faces. "He looked a bit like Gandalf come to think of it. Not exactly like him, just enough to be surprising."

"I did wonder why you called me that when we first met." Gandalf said conversationally. "This is the legendary city of Dwarrowdelf."

Gimli was looking around with a rapturous expression, tempered with the knowledge that known of his relatives were here to make this hall a place of light and laughter. He was still staring up towards the roof when he noticed that the Fellowship had moved on. With one last longing look at the columns, he caught up. Unfortunately he looked down just in time to miss seeing the first curious Orc scouting the unexpected visitors its home.

Quickly, like a nest of ants following the scent marks of another, dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of Orcs came streaming down the pillars, surrounding the Fellowship, who instinctively tightened into a defensive ring.

Harry summed it up best. "Oh fuck."

**Rivendell**

Elrond looked out over the balcony. The three young wizards had been in Rivendell for nearly 2 months, and in that time had familiarised themselves with the geography of Middle Earth, and in the case of the tall redhead called Ron who he gathered was some sort of cross between a lawman and a soldier, strategy and tactics.

All 3 had been the very souls of courtesy, though Elrond suspected that it was the calming influence of Ron's wife Hermione that kept him out of trouble most of the time, and the other woman, Ron's younger sister and Harry's beloved, Ginevra, who preferred to be called Ginny for some reason, spoke little, always politely when prevailed upon to speak, but had an air of preoccupation most of the time. Elrond recognised it from his own daughter when Estel left to protect the Shire or go Orc hunting with Harry and the twins.

What puzzled Elrond the most about her, was something which she had refused to explain, her preference for a shortened name. When he had politely enquired over dinner, in which he had been sitting beside her, her brother had hastily swallowed his mouthful under the watchful eye of his wife, and started laughing, mentioning the words, "Aunt Muriel," who Elrond gathered to be a person who was not in favour with miss Ginny Weasley, or Mrs Hermione Granger-Weasley, judging from the fact that Hermione had grimaced as if eating something sour and Ginny had worn an expression that Elrond noted with some amusement would not have looked amiss on Arwen when she was younger if Elladan or Elrohir had said or done something she found inappropriate.

Currently the three were practising sword fighting, the sound of blunt practice blades crashing together travelling on the early morning air, on the grounds that if they couldn't fight with a sword and were denied their wands, they would be defenceless. All three were being tutored by Glorfindel and Arwen, who took it in turns to demonstrate a move, then have the three students practise until they could perform it perfectly several times in a row. At the end of each practice, they would have mock duel.

Glorfindel was facing Hermione and Ron at the same time, easily fending off strike after strike while calling out advice, and Arwen was engaging Ginny in a frenetic practice duel. Arwen had the advantage of speed and over a millennium of training, but Ginny was just about holding her own through a combination of greater mass, unorthodox tactics and an uncanny dodging ability that made Elrond wonder if she had a small amount of elven blood in her. However Arwen's endurance and training soon began to tell as Ginny tired. It was less than 3 minutes later that Ginny mistimed a parry and the tip of Arwen's blade tickled her throat.

The tableau held for a moment, then both dropped their blades and bowed to one another, before they went to get changed, chatting and laughing as they did. For some reason or another, the two had got on almost immediately, and Elrond was glad that they did. For too long had Arwen been in the shadow that Sauron cast before him, and she had not been truly happy since Estel had left on the quest.

Ginny was certainly a natural swordswoman, and with enough practice would be as good as any of the Dunedain, combining speed and surprising strength with impressive co-ordination. Ron also had the makings of a competent swordsman, wielding an impressive amount of power and the reach to perform deadly lunges, but lacking the speed and co-ordination of his sister. Hermione was good enough to defend herself and had a mathematical precision to her movements, but Elrond worried that her heart wasn't really in it, and since she was going into battle where a moment's hesitation could mean death, that could be costly. However from what he had heard from Harry, she and Ron had fought alongside him in battle on several occasions, albeit battle of a different sort.

**Perspective shift**

Ginny struggled out of her practice armour, having replaced her practice sword on the rack. It had been an odd 2 months or so, that was for sure. When they had arrived they had been greeted in a hospitable manner by Lord Elrond and his daughter, the Lady Arwen, who had made Ron's eyes briefly bug out, before he shook himself mentally, something that impressed Ginny, as Ron had once been reduced to a gibbering sycophantic wreck by the mere presence of Fleur Delacour, who, though beautiful, did not even begin to hold a candle to the one the elves called the Evenstar.

At first Ginny had thought her aloof and standoff-ish, but she soon found out that Arwen was merely distant because the man she loved was going on a deadly quest to save the world that might yet claim his life and his mind. Ginny, who had been in that very position before, spent a lot of time reassuring her (and being reassured in return), and recounting amusing exploits of Harry's and her brother's, while Arwen, who proved to be kind, witty and considerate under her reserved exterior, countered with the hijinks that Harry, Aragorn and Arwen's twin brothers had got up to.

The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, who Ginny had yet to learn how to tell apart, spent much of their time out Orc hunting, but when they resided in Rivendell, the very walls seemed to come alive with music and laughter. While they were hardly pranksters in the mould of Fred and George, they carried a certain happiness around with them wherever they went, save in battle, when they were apparently cold and deadly, making it a personal aim to slaughter as many Orcs as possible, due to something terrible which had happened to their mother, Celebrian. When she had asked Arwen about it, she had changed the subject abruptly.

Still. Reticence aside, Ginny valued Arwen's friendship.

Once they had changed, the elf maiden and the witch walked the halls of Rivendell, going nowhere in particular.

"As time goes on, I feel as if the path the Fellowship treads is getting steadily darker. That they walk on the edge of a knife and soon, so soon, may fall." Arwen said abruptly, unaware that her grandmother was to use those exact same words later on.

Ginny noted that she used the collective noun to voice her real worry. For Aragorn. Privately Ginny worried about Harry. How had Middle Earth changed him? What if Dumbledore had been wrong? Rationally she knew that the testimony of the Lady Arwen, who had inherited her father's gift for seeing the hearts of men, and the Lady Galadriel, who from what she had heard was a natural Legilimens/Occlumens on an unmatchable scale (since some of this came from Dumbledore and Snape's portrait - when its occupant wasn't berating professional potioneers in one of his other portraits - both known for being extraordinarily skilled in the art of mental magic, she accepted most of the stories as the truth, or close to it), was the best thing short of divine testimony. Unfortunately Love and rationality have never been close companions.

Drawing herself back to the present, she replied soberly, "No matter how precarious the quest is, we can't intervene. It would take too long to find them, and it would draw too much attention if Saruman is as strong as you say. Besides, Glorfindel said that Aragorn was probably the best human swordsman he had ever seen, and he has Legolas, over 2,000 years old and the best archer in Middle-Earth, Gimli, who if Bilbo's tales of his father are anything to go by, is an experienced and skilled soldier, Boromir who is seen as Gondor's greatest warrior and General, and then you have Gandalf and Harry. I dare say that the Hobbit's could give a good account of themselves if they had to." She smirked and added, "Everyone underestimates small people, often at their peril."

Arwen smiled, slightly sadly, and said, "I know all of that, but it is definite a feeling, a warning. Ada has them as well, but his gift of foresight is far stronger than mine."

"Is it any more precise?" Ginny asked, beginning to get worried.

Arwen closed her eyes and appeared to be deep in thought for a moment, then said, "It is one of great and alien power and destiny. One who has done so much for so long, and his trials are only just beginning."

Ginny sat down on a nearby bench with a thump. Well, that was fairly unequivocal. At approximately the same time as the man she loved, to the concerned audience of Arwen, she voiced her feelings succinctly. "Oh fuck." Instead of preparing for battle, she burst into angry tears.

"Ginny." Arwen said gently. The younger woman turned away, not unreasonably self-absorbed.

"Ginny daughter of Molly, hearken to me. You come from a strong line of warriors and healers, all of whom faced the death of those they loved and remained strong, as you should now. Dry your tears little one, for neither anger nor sorrow will do your beloved any good." Arwen said, in firm, but still kind, tones that had underlying harmonics of command.

Ginny snapped her head round to look at Arwen, almost giving herself whiplash in the process. "_What was that_?" she snapped, red eyed but with no further tears coming forth.

Arwen smiled mysteriously and said, "I have more than just human in my ancestry. It grants my family an… enhancement on the usual abilities of the Eldar, and a few minor abilities such as the one you just sensed. I must admit I am impressed. No mortal has ever noticed, and even Aragorn took many years to learn how to spot it, let alone override it. Despite the fact that Ada used it every time Aragorn was caught doing something he shouldn't or avoiding something he should have been doing." Arwen paused, then added with a smile, "Which was a lot of the time."

Ginny laughed wetly, and said, "The only threat that ever worked on my twin brothers was the threat of sending word back to our mother of their misdeeds. Everything else failed to intimidate them. Even a dark lord didn't slow them down all that much." Then her smile faded, and she said quietly, "I don't want to lose him the way I lost my brother."

Arwen hugged her around the shoulders. "Come on. I'm sure Erestor and Glorfindel will be full of stories of Aragorn and Harry's misadventures, including a few that ada probably doesn't want them to tell me."

**Rohan**

"My Lord Théoden King. Councillor Grima." Theodred said in greeting. On the outside he was the epitome of calmness, but on the inside, his heart was beating like a jackhammer. Eowyn and Eomer were in similar condition, but as the heir and the eldest, it was his responsibility.

"My Lord Théoden King, we would have words with thee on matters of grave import." He continued, in what Harry called his 'talking-to-stuffy-politicians' voice.

Theoden, even more decrepit than before, mumbled something to Grima. "On what subject would the King have words with thee, Lord Prince?" Grima said, clearly irked that he had not been addressed as a Lord. Theodred smiled inwardly. The little bastard could choke on it. He would dance naked and sing rude drinking songs on the steps of Edoras before a Prince of the Mark called something that slimy 'Lord'.

"On the subject of you, _honoured _councillor." Eomer said, lacing the word honoured with more sarcasm and venom than Theodred had previously believed possible.

"Do you have a grievance against me, Lord Marshal?" Grima asked, suddenly wary. Eomer was blunt and lacked the subtlety to be a serious foe in a war of words, and Eowyn tended to avoid playing the political game, but Theodred was as skilled with words and diplomacy as Faramir of Gondor. However, like his cousin, he rarely personally got involved. That infernal wizard! Saruman had warned him that the Black Wizard was a dangerous foe, and close to the throne, so Grima had suggested a countermeasure, taking malicious glee when it had been implemented. While his actual appearance had been temporary and bloody, Eomer had arrived at the same time, preventing any chance of clearing up the mess before any who might object arrived.

"We feel that you overstep your bounds, that you have caused the King's illness and that you have betrayed Rohan to Saruman. And other offences." Eowyn said, smooth, cold and sharp as a sword blade, eyes flashing at Grima when saying 'other offences'. How Grima wanted her, for her to submit before him and be his! All in good time, he thought to himself, all in good time. Now was not the time to make his move. Only when Rohan was fallen could he take what he so badly needed.

Eowyn saw the lust in his eyes and replied with a slight sneer and cold glare that any Malfoy would have been proud of. Eomer looked like a hawk that ached to strike down a particularly disgusting rat, while Theodred, the experience politician, revealed nothing in his bearing and position, save that his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"What evidence do you have of this?" Grima said, mockingly.

"This, o councillor." Theodred said, and Eomer opened up the bloody handshaped piece of black cloth.

"The Lord Harry Potter, otherwise known as the Black Wizard and _Moristar_, and a longstanding and steadfast ally of the realm, attempted to use one of his spells to travel to the hall, no doubt bearing vital news, possibly from Elrond of Rivendell, given that Boromir of Gondor was travelling there to a Council of great import when he passed through this realm many months ago. He had used this spell many times before with no ill effect-"

"Except for those who made the mistake of travelling with him. Tighter than a-" Eomer whispered, being cut off by a judicious elbow to the gut from Eowyn before he could finish his lewd comparison.

Theodred quirked a corner of his mouth in a momentary grin, then continued in a less formal tone, pacing up and down, "- yet this time Lord Eomer, 3rd Marshal of the Mark, saw a great injury form on Lord Potter's body, clearly the mark of fell sorcery. The shape the sorcery took, and the power of it leaves only one who could have done such a thing, Saruman the White Wizard. Saruman has turned against us, and we, myself, the Lady Eowyn and the Lord Eomer believe that you Grima, you who have defended Saruman for so long in the face of overwhelming evidence, are either our Lord's and our foe, or supremely stupid, making you unsuitable to be councillor to the King. Since your appointment moreover, the shadow of Isengard has spread, and the King has fallen into illness." Theodred turned to his father and said quietly, "How find you my Lord?"

The King wheezed, and said in a thin voice, "Not Guilty." Then Grima leaned close, a look of malicious triumph painted on his face, as the King whispered something to him.

Eomer snarled, and started forward to step into his cousin's outstretched arm. "Not now," Theodred said _sotto voce_, his lips barely moving.

"By order of the King, Lords Theodred and Eomer are to be escorted by guards and prevented from speaking to one another unsupervised, lest this sedition spread, and go on at least 2 patrols daily. The Lady Eowyn is to be restricted to the hall of Meduseld and the upper town. If she wishes to go elsewhere, she must apply for permission and be escorted." Grima spoke, tones laden with malice and triumph.

The three royals bowed as one and turned to go back to their quarters, all with stony faces. Trying to convince Théoden had failed. He had fallen too deep under Saruman's influence. Another plan would have to be made.

**Okay, at the end of another monster chapter, I would like to ask you to review and check out and vote in a new poll on my profile about Theodred.**


	13. Chapter 13: Moria to Lothlorien

**A/N: Because you lot are very good (**_**I expect lots and lots of reviews for this**_**), and I somehow decided that writing while I should be working and sleeping until 1:30-2:00 in the morning was a good idea, an absolute monster (seriously, it dwarfs all the others so far) of a chapter that is pretty much all Fellowship.**

**Okay, I've just noticed that I've mixed up the scenes in Moria. Let's just say they get surrounded twice, by an oversized scouting party the first time. Sorry. Also, I will be very impressed if anyone finds the mildly paraphrased quote by the Duke of Wellington within as well as one from the HP canon.**

"Language, Harry." Gandalf said distractedly.

Harry, who had been trying to work out the best method of escape, wholesale destruction or a focused, blasted path, looked at him briefly, "Do you even know what that means?"

"I have spent my fair share of time in taverns, Harry, I am perfectly aware of what you meant."

"Is now the best time?"

Gandalf ignored him, instead opting make the light on his staff shine brighter, pushing the orcs, who weren't quite as numerous as had been previously apparent, back. Harry raised his eyebrows, and incanted, "_Incendio Solem_." A thin, golden beam light issued from the tip of Harry's wand, much like the light he had been using. That light, however, didn't cut all living tissue it touched like butter, or melt armour. Harry flicked his wand once, clearing the Fellowship's front, the other orcs clearly considering discretion the better part of valour and making good their escape.

Harry turned and grinned at Gandalf. "I've still got it old man, foul language or no."

"Show off." Gandalf muttered with a slight smile, leading the company forward again.

"'Old man?'" Pippin whispered incredulously.

Merry shrugged and said, "Wizards," as if it explained everything. In this case, it probably did.

Soon after, a shaft of silver light could be seen passing through a door up ahead. Gimli gasped and ran into the room despite Gandalf warning him not to.

When the rest of the company joined him, he was sobbing in front of a large marble sarcophagus, engraved in Cirth runes.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria." Gandalf muttered, translating. "He is dead then. It is as I feared." He finished heavily, removing his hat out of respect. Harry awkwardly grasped Gimli's shoulder, in an 'I'm there for you but due to being a man I have no great idea as to what would help' gesture.

Boromir and Aragorn were examining the chamber grimly, both quickly coming to the conclusion that if there was a fight; things would get up close and personal very quickly and it would have to be finished quickly.

"We must move on, we cannot linger." Legolas said quietly to Aragorn. Harry heard him and skewered him with a glare and a look at Gimli which said: we aren't moving till we have to, or until Gimli is done grieving.

Gandalf had found a chronicle, in the hands of a long deceased warrior clerk. The book was dusty, marred by a slash on its thick cover as if it had been used to futilely fend off an attack, and pages fell out when he picked it up, respectfully moving the skeletons hand away from it.

"They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes." The Hobbits were beginning to look nervous, and Pippin, who was holding Gandalf's hat and staff, begin to step backwards, nervously scanning the room.

"Drums, drums in the deep," Gandalf continued, looking up as he turned the page. "We cannot get out." Boromir began looking around the room again, wariness and fear filling the air at the last words of the scribe. "Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out." Gandalf looked at the last, scribbled line as if the scribe had been killed in midsentence, borne out by the dried bloodstains on the pages. "They are coming." Gandalf finished. As the tension ramped up, Pippin poked a precariously balanced skeleton which was hanging over a well. With agonising slowness, the head fell off, and fell into the deeps, banging and clattering all the way down. Then the rest of the body, armour and all, followed, then the chains attached to the bucket. The hobbits, Frodo in particular looked frightened and Pippin cringed, unable to meet Gandalf's eyes, while Harry winced at every crash. To everyone's relief, no response was forthcoming from the depths of the mines.

"Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time, and rid us of your stupidity!" Gandalf snapped with a mixture of relief and anger as he snatched his staff and hat. Then, there was a deep, quiet _thump_.

Gandalf turned horror and shock on his face, to look at the well. So did Pippin. Thumps and booms began to cascade through the mines, and goblin and orc screeches followed them.

"Frodo," Sam said, clearly remembering the tales of Sting, Frodo's sword. Like the tales, it was currently glowing blue, displayed when Frodo half drew, panic on his face.

"Orcs." Legolas said.

"And other assorted nasties and long leggity beasties." Harry said quietly, as if quoting something. Boromir made for the door, looking out, and narrowly avoiding being killed by two orc arrows. He grimaced and stepped back.

"Stay close to Gandalf!" Aragorn called, dropping his somewhat superfluous flaming torch while Gandalf stood in front of the Hobbits, protecting them. Boromir said with a wry grimace as he closed the door, "They have a cave troll."

The man began using spears and axes to block the door, and was joined by Legolas, Harry and Aragorn in short order.

"_Colloportus_." Harry said, moving up to tap the door, remembering the spell that Hermione had used all those years ago at the Department of Mysteries. The lock and the hinges appeared to weld, meaning the door would have to smashed down by brute force. With a cave troll however, brute force was not going to be in short supply. The door began to bang and strain from the pressure, Gandalf drawing his sword and dropping his hat, and shouting a battle cry. Aragorn and Legolas readied their bows, then fired through the gaps, killing the occasional Orc. Harry and Boromir stood close to one another, ready to stand back to back if necessary, Harry wielding his wand and his wickedly sharp elven long dagger, looking like some ridiculous parody of Gandalf. Save, that was, for the slasher smile that embraced his lips. Boromir stood steadfast and ready, sword in his hand and shield on his arm. The assembled Hobbits looked terrified, swords out.

"Let them come," Gimli snarled, getting onto the tomb of Balin and hefting his axe. "There is one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!"

The door collapsed, and the Orc's charged through. Battle commenced, war cries from all sides. The melee was ferocious, until the number orcs began to thin out, and the cave troll entered, smashing what was left of the doors. Legolas hit with an arrow, then Gimli with a throwing axe, neither of which seemed to do more than annoy it. It swung its club with wanton abandon, not distinguishing friend from foe. It faced Sam, and tried to crush him to paste, but the doughty gardener rolled through its legs with a battlecry.

Legolas had reached a ledge, killing the Orcs that had also found their way up with a few strokes of his long knives. He scanned the battle, dodged the Troll's chain as it used it as a weapon, stamped on it, then run onto it's back and fired an arrow point black into its skull. The arrow shattered, and as the creature thrashed, Legolas made a judicious leap to the floor.

Sam had resorted to one of his frying pans, and was belting Orcs left right and centre with it.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," he gasped, and threw himself back into the fray.

The Boromir-Harry combo was steadily mowing down Orcs. One of Harry's preferred tactics was to skewer one with the knife in his left hand, and the blast it away with a _depulso _or an _impedimenta, _using it to knock down the Orcs in front of him, which were easy prey for his dagger or a cutting curse. Boromir just preferred a more workman like approach: Cut, thrust, lunge, parry, bludgeon with shield. If he was feeling creative, he interspersed it with a boot to the chest. Harry suddenly hissed as a lucky blow caught him on his left arm, causing him to drop his dagger. Without missing a beat, Boromir dispatched any who sought to take advantage so Harry could catch his breath.

"You really need armour." He said conversationally, smashing a particularly large and ugly Orc over the head with the pommel of his sword.

"Probably do." Harry muttered, levitating his dagger and directing it to great effect with his wand. After cutting the throats of several orcs with it, he levitated it up between the eyes of the troll and began to distract the large and puzzled creature as it had been bearing down on the Merry, Pippin and Frodo.

"Just kill the damn thing!" Boromir roared.

"If you insist." Harry said, but the attempted stabbing went awry as the troll turned at the last moment, causing the razor sharp blade to put out one eye. On the positive side, it definitely hurt the troll, Harry thought, as he watched the half blind and enraged creature stumble around, bellowing in pain. On the negative side, he thought as the creatures single remaining eye settled on Frodo, glittering evilly, it just seems to have _really_ pissed him off. And pointed him at Frodo. Shit.

The creature picked up a spear, and apparently in slow motion, stabbed Frodo, who promptly went white. Merry and Pippin screamed and leapt on its back, stabbing manically at the back of its head, while Aragorn struggled over to Frodo. Harry just felt cold. The quest had failed. And it was all his fault. He absently drew his long knife back to him, and said in a cold, carrying voice.

"Get clear." Merry and Pippin did, diving left and right.

Harry snarled a spell that sent a crackling loop of silver energy over the trolls head, and tightened it around its neck, then pulled, causing the surprised troll to lean forward.

"Legolas, now is your time!" Harry said.

Legolas jumped on its back and fired two arrows into the base of its skull.

Legolas and Boromir finished off the remaining Orcs, who seemed shocked that something had brought down their cave troll with such ease. Boromir smashed in the windpipe of the last with a vicious blow from the edge of his shield, and turned to Frodo as it died with a sickening gurgle.

Suddenly Frodo coughed and wheezed, clearly severely winded and with a possible broken rib, but otherwise intact.

"I'm all right, I'm not hurt," he said with some difficulty clutching the Ring through his shirt.

"You should be dead! That spear would have skewered a wild boar!" Aragorn said, bemused and wondering.

"I suspect there is more to this Hobbit than there meets the eye." Gandalf said knowingly, causing Frodo to open his shirt, revealing a glittering shirt of what could only be Mithril, confirmed by Gimli gasping 'Mithril'.

"I take it that was the coat of mail that Bilbo took from Smaug's horde?" Harry asked, glancing briefly at Legolas, who had shown a sudden interest in the coat.

Frodo just nodded, still a little rattled.

"You are full of surprises Master Baggins," Gimli said with a smile.

Then the shrieks and screeches began again, as Orc reinforcements began to come closer.

"_Entropus!_" Harry said, waving his wand. A thin, shimmering blueish coat of light covered the open doorway.

"Nasty variant of the shield charm, it dissolves anything that tries to come through. Unless there is something down here as strong as Gandalf, it should hold for a while, until the accumulated dust overwhelms the spell." Harry explained with a hint of satisfaction in his voice. For some reason Gandalf just looked tired, but smiled his thanks.

"Good work Harry. Now, to the bridge of Khazad Dum!" Gandalf said. The Fellowship took off like the metaphorical Bats out of Hell (Harry wondered about that phrase. Surely the heat and light would put them off. No wonder they wanted to get out), Aragorn protecting the Hobbits at the rear, while Harry pulled out in front, clutching his left arm, which was still bleeding steadily, putting the long years of running across moor, wood and fen to good use. Gandalf moved with a speed that belied his apparent age, and Legolas did it as he did every other physical activity, if the rumours that the maids in Mirkwood giggled over were true, that is to say, annoyingly and ridiculously perfectly. Harry just hoped, for his sake and all of Middle Earth's that Legolas never met Lavender. 'Won-Won' had been bad enough. 'Leggy' would be infinitely worse, and something any jury would probably accept as a fair cause for Justifiable Homicide.

Orc's swarmed out of the cracks and crevices even from the ceiling, joining with those that had followed the Fellowship, like oversized and grotesque cockroaches, down the jointed and rusty armour, surrounding them. The Fellowship, as before, moved into a defensive ring. The tableau was still. Orcs occasionally made disgusting noises, screeches and shrieks, but neither side moved. While Harry was making up his mind about which spell to use, an orange and fiery light and a dangerous presence appeared at the far end of the hall, a presence which Harry's magically enhanced sense of intuition classed as: fey, malevolent, extremely powerful. A deep basso roar echoed through the hall, causing Harry to add, very large, to his list, and the Orcs exchanged nervous glances, then began to split up with fearful shrieks, running to their cracks and crevices, back up to the ceiling, anything to escape the new player in the game.

Boromir slipped up behind Gandalf and whispered, "What new devilry is this?"

Harry stole a glance at Gandalf, who closed his eyes and suddenly looked very old and very tired, then said, weariness evident. "A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world." Harry's blood froze. Glorfindel had told him tales of the Balrogs, fallen maiar, demons of shadow and flame that were fearsome foes, and it was a great misfortune, though a good explanation for the dead dwarves, that one, a large one at that, was down here.

"Ai, Ai, a Balrog is come!" Legolas, wailed, clearly of a like mind with Harry, hyperventilating. Harry's senses were screaming, 'get out of there! Now is not the time to play the hero!'

Then he turned slowly and said, "This foe is beyond any of you, even Harry… RUN!" He bellowed the last part, taking off at an incredible rate down the hall, the Fellowship scrambling after him. Boromir was the first through the door, racing ahead and nearly paying for it with his life as he narrowly avoided falling to a painful and fiery death, dropping his now thoroughly superfluous torch. Legolas snaked out a hand and pulled the Gondorian back from the precipice.

Gandalf had leant against the wall, now looking all of his very many years. Aragorn and Harry went to his aid, but he shook his head.

"Aragorn, you must lead them on, the bridge is near. Harry, you must help him, he will need your wisdom," at Harry's raised eyebrows he continued, "and your power. And listen to me. You do have the power to defeat Saruman, and will find it soon enough. Help is always given in Arda to those who need it." Harry blinked, trying to remember where he had that before, or words to that effect, and Aragorn looked reluctant.

"Do as I say, swords are no more use here, nor are wands!" Gandalf shouted, pushing them both on. Ahead there was a gap in the descending steps, which Legolas leapt across with the barest of hesitation. Upon another roar from the pursuing Balrog and cracks appearing in the stonework and Legolas' entreaty for Gandalf to follow, the Grey Wizard did, followed by Harry, then Boromir who tucked Merry and Pippin under his arms, leaping as the stair they were standing on crumbled away. Orcs started firing arrows, from galleries and crevices, to which Aragorn and Legolas replied with arrows of their own, Harry providing a shield and an occasional reductor curse, or blast of force. Aragorn threw Sam across, Boromir catching the large Hobbit. He went to do the same to Gimli, but was faced with a blunt refusal.

"Nobody tosses a dwarf!" And with that Gimli let out a war cry and performed an impressive standing jump. He didn't quite make it, and was only saved by Legolas reflexively grabbing his prized beard.

"Not the beard!" Gimli bellowed, as Legolas pulled him away from a fiery death by said facial hair.

As Aragorn and Frodo were about to jump, the stairs began to break on their supports, leaving the two even more marooned. Then the Balrog roared again, causing rocks to fall from the roof, scything the section of stairs which Aragorn and Frodo were on away from the rest, which began to teeter.

"Hold on. Lean forward." Aragorn commanded, grabbing Frodo and leaning forward, jumping onto the more stable stairs when the forward falling steps collided with the solid ones.

"Come on," Legolas said, grabbing Aragorn. The Fellowship then decided collectively that discretion was the better part of valour, and sprinted for the bridge, Gandalf waving them on. He faced down the Balrog, which roared at him. He grimaced, then turned and ran, following the Fellowship over the Bridge of Khazad-dum. Thankfully, Harry thought manically as he ran, Balrogs are apparently not built for speed, hearing the loud, ponderous footsteps behind him. Once they were over, they turned and faced the monstrous being that had dogged their footsteps since after the chamber of Mazarbul and Balin's tomb. It was a creature apparently of living magma, with crusted, rocky skin, and fitted its description as 'a creature of shadow and flame' very well. And, Harry thought, it was fucking enormous. It never rained but it poured. Gandalf had turned in the middle of the bridge, and now snarled defiance at the monstrous being.

"You cannot pass!" he bellowed determinedly.

"Gandalf!" Frodo screamed, as the Balrog extended its wings, burning things composed of the same substance as the rest of Balrog, and set it's body aflame in an attempt to intimidate Gandalf.

Who apparently took little or no heed. "I am servant of the secret fire, wielder of the flame of Arnor. The Dark Fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!" Gandalf said defiantly, in an almost chant like rhythm, raising his staff, the crystal at the end of which glowed ever brighter, an azure blue shield forming around him. Not a moment too soon, as the Balrog brought down a massive flaming sword on the shield. The sword shattered into embers upon the shield, and the Balrog screeched at him in a sound not unlike a giant teakettle on the boil.

"Go back to the Shadow," Gandalf said, semi-contemptuously.

The Balrog, evidently no great conversationalist, took its first step onto the bridge with an earth shaking thump, and cracked a many tipped burning whip menacingly.

"I have had enough. You will not stand alone Gandalf!" Aragorn called, adding a battlecry as he made his way towards the bridge, "For Gondor!"

"For Hogwarts!" Harry added, joining him.

"Baruk Khazad!" Was Gimli's contribution.

"For Mirkwood!"

"For Gondor!" Added Legolas and Boromir, Boromir looking slightly annoyed that Aragorn had stolen _his_ battle cry.

However, it appeared that Gandalf needed no help.

"_YOU. SHALL NOT. PASS!_" Gandalf roared, clapping his sword and staff together, bring them down on the surface of the bridge with a thunderous detonation of sound, and wave of power that sent Harry reeling.

Nothing apparently happened, and the Balrog gave a Malfoyesque snort of contempt and stepped forward. As it did, raising its whip, the stone crumbled beneath it. The beast roared, and fell into the darkness below, whip and all.

Gandalf turned away, having vanquished his foe, tired but satisfied, when the Balrog's whip snapped up from below, catching Gandalf by the ankle, causing him to collapse at the edge with a cry, dropping his staff and sword.

Frodo made to go forward, crying "Gandalf," like a grief-stricken child, but Boromir caught him around the chest, holding onto him through main strength.

Gandalf tried with pain evident on his face, tried to pull himself up, but only slipped back. His last words, his eyes full of sorrow, were: "Fly, you fools."

Then he slipped away, falling after the Balrog.

"_Accio Gandalf!_" Harry tried desperately,but whether it was due to the weight or the power of the two beings, his spell fizzled.

Frodo's screams of "No!" had to be heard to be believed, such was their volume and their grief, as Boromir hauled him out, calling for Aragorn, who looked shocked, and Harry who it didn't seem to sunk in yet. Aragorn quickly came to his senses, and dragged Harry out, dodging the following arrows.

Outside the eastern gate, once they were clear, the Fellowship grieved, each in his own way. Boromir had to restrain Gimli, a look of sadness on his face, as the enraged dwarf ranted and raved in a mix of Westron and Khuzdul, wanting to be let back in and avenge Gandalf and his people. Sam just sat down with his face in his hands and wept, while Pippin had collapsed, head in Merry's lap. Never again would he hear the words, "Fool of a took!" or any of Gandalf's good natured scolding's for pranks.

Legolas, ashen faced and stricken, just stood, while Aragorn cleaned his sword.

"Legolas, get them up." He said in a business like tone, temporarily crushing his grief.

At that moment, it hit Harry. He was never going to see Gandalf again. Gandalf, who had patiently taught him about the ways of magic and politics in Middle Earth. Gandalf, who had patiently fielded every question and helped research every potential means of getting back home. Gandalf, who had shared tales of his travels with Harry at Rivendell. Gandalf, who had laughed with him, talked with him. Gandalf, his friend, had fallen into death, like Albus Dumbledore, another old, kind mentor wizard who had died while he had been there, who had died while he stood helpless, who had fallen into the darkness of death. Helpless. Again.

"No. No." Harry said slowly, then continued, an invisible aura of magic gathering around him, aroused by the deepest and most powerful emotions of anger and sorrow, which tapped into the very core of his power, unleashing it.

"_NO!"_ He screamed, the piercing, wailing cry of someone so young, who has lost so much and felt so much pain. Multi coloured lightning bolts of raw power lashed out as he screamed, smashing the stones and pounding the eastern gate of Moria to rubble, bringing stone after stone down off the mountain, blasting holes metres wide in the bedrock, blasting craters for hundreds of metres around. Then he subsided, the Fellowship looking in a mix of empathy and terror at the power unleashed. "No." he finished quietly.

It was Boromir who cautiously stepped up to him and then gathered him in a bear hug as Harry wept uncontrollably in his embrace.

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" he said angrily, as Aragorn indicated they should go, once it was certain that no more explosions were likely.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with Orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlorien." Aragorn replied.

"He's right." Harry said wetly and with reddened eyes, extricating himself from Boromir's grip. "And I have made a terrible mess of your jerkin, I am so sorry," he added distractedly. "_Scourgify_," he said, cleaning the mess.

With reluctance, Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli began to lift the Hobbits up.

"On your feet Sam," Aragorn said gently, lifting the hobbit up.

"Frodo?" He called. The Ringbearer had walked some distance away, and was still walking. "Frodo!" Aragorn barked. The hobbit turned, tears running from his blue eyes.

After crossing a very, very cold stream, they reached the edge of Lothlorien, full of grass and life that made the darkness upon lift slightly, a marked contrast to the bare stone that had surrounded them before.

The golden leafed Mallorn trees were shedding their leaves, but still they were beautiful.

"Long have I wished to see the woods of Lothlorien," Legolas said quietly, voice full of wonder. Even Harry, who had seen these woods many times in all seasons of the year, smiled slightly. Gimli was wandering around, hefting his axe suspiciously.

"Stay close young hobbits," he whispered ominously, "It is said that a great sorceress lives in these woods. An Elf Witch, of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell…"

"That's one way of putting it," Harry whispered to Aragorn who cracked a slight smile. Frodo suddenly looked around, as if searching for a voice.

"We really should have warned him about her habit of doing that," Harry said, indicating the thoroughly frightened hobbit.

"…and are never seen again." Gimli finished. If Harry had been in a better mood, he would have rolled his eyes. Gimli didn't exactly have the best sense of timing in the world.

"Well. Here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox," he said, just before he narrowly avoided walking into an arrow point. Scratch that, Harry thought, wand and knife out, he has the worst sense of timing in anyone I've ever met. Including Ron.

"The dwarf breaths so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," Haldir the marchwarden of Lothlorien said silkily, reminding Harry of Lucius Malfoy.

"Doing your bit to improve Elf-Dwarf relations as ever, eh Haldir?" Harry sniped. "Put the bows down or you'll spend a month without hair. Again."

"Harry…" Aragorn said warningly, and was rewarded with a glare that could have melted steel.

He spoke in Sindarin, placating the ruffled dignity of the Marchwarden.

"Aragorn, these woods are perilous! We should go back." Gimli said, eyes darting at the arrows pointed at him.

"You have entered the realm of the Lady-" Haldir began before Harry irritably interrupted.

"Yes, yes, you can't turn back and all that bollocks." Harry said. Aragorn turned to him to remonstrate, but Harry ignored him, continuing. "And I would take it kindly if you acted fairly to my friend Gimli son of Gloin, who is also a friend to Aragorn son of Arathorn, Legolas Thranduilion, Boromir son of Denethor, Frodo son of Drogo, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Samwise Gamgee, all of whom are honourable, friendly to Lothlorien and can vouch for his friendship and steadfast loyalty. He has recently seen the corpses of quite a lot of his family and friends, something which has affected him deeply, and we have all lost another friend very recently, and if you don't stop harassing Gimli, don't put down those bows and let us through, then I swear on my power that a lack of hair will be the very _least_ of your problems, do I make myself abundantly clear?" Harry finished in a venomously soft voice, eyes glittering with anger.

Haldir rocked back on his heels, shocked by this tirade. Aragorn also had his mouth open, Legolas' eyebrows were raised, Boromir was hiding a smirk, and Gimli said gruffly, "Thanks laddie."

"No problem Gimli. Now shall we move on before any further disputes arise? I think the Lady of the Golden Wood would have made it extremely clear by now if this company was not welcome." Harry said in a snarky tone, letting his wand fall to his side and sheathing his dagger.

Haldir snarled a few words in Sindarin as he turned to lead them on, waving the bows down. Legolas' jaw dropped and Aragorn put his face in his hands. Frodo, who had got the gist of it, winced. Harry, who had learnt a few words in Sindarin during his time Middle Earth, especially the ruder ones, now looked absolutely furious, and snapped his wand back up flicking it once. Haldir shot into the air, held up by his ankle.

Harry advanced menacingly on the Marchwarden, and said in a viciously soft tone of voice, "Apologise. Apologise for the aspersions you just cast on my ancestry and my mother's virtue. Or by Eru you will wish you didn't live to see another dawn." Aragorn looked horrified, as he watched the Marchwarden slowly turn purple. He should have known something like this would happen.

"Such words are a stain on your honour, Haldir of Lothlorien, and by extension, that of the Lady you serve. They are not befitting of a Marchwarden of your status." Harry said in a quiet and fair tone of voice that just concealed his temper. "In light of our previous friendship and the effects of these dark times, I am willing to forgive and forget, if you apologise. _Now_."

Haldir opened his mouth to protest, turning a shade of puce Uncle Vernon would have been proud of, then shut it, very aware that what he had said had been wrong and decidedly ill-advised. He nodded at his ankle once, and Harry let him down with a thump. He stood up and brushed himself down.

"I apologise." He said stiffly.

"For what?" Harry said, prompting. Haldir ground his teeth. He was a stubborn elf by nature, and hated being told he was wrong and admitting it.

"Harry…" Aragorn said, not wanting to escalate this further.

"For what?" Harry said again.

"For what I called your mother."

"And?"

"…the insults towards Gimli the dwarf."

"Thank you." Harry said, resisting the temptation to add a further caustic comment on the end with difficulty.

_It is a long time since Haldir has been scolded like a child,_ came the warmly amused voice of the Lady Galadriel.

_It was overdue then, anyway, now isn't the best time to talk_. _And you know I hate it when you do that. _ Harry replied peevishly, the laughter of Galadriel in his head, as he followed Haldir and the rest of his company, the former with his nose in the air and the latter in shock. Aragorn was praying fervently to Eru that he would be good for evermore if He could make sure no more violence would erupt between the prickly Marchwarden and pricklier dwarf and wizard.

"Was that really necessary Harry?" Aragorn said in a despairing voice. Knowing the elves would be listening in, and because he felt like it, Harry cast a _muffliato_.

"Yes. If my father or Godfather had heard that, Haldir would be subject to a number of vicious hexes and long and ruthless campaign of revenge. If my mother had heard that, Haldir would probably be missing something vital or hexed into oblivion. James, Sirius and Lily also did not brook insults to those they called friends." Harry said bluntly. "Haldir can thank the Valar that I both like him and understand the strain he is under."

Aragorn sighed. "Please, try not to cause any more arguments, and avoid them if possible."

"I'll try." Harry said, cancelling the spell, smirking at the elves who had blatantly been trying to eavesdrop.

Aragorn sighed. That was the best he would get. Mithrandir, if you can hear me, he thought, please send me a sign telling me how to deal with Harry in a bad mood. Preferably before someone tries to kill him for it, or before he tries to kill someone.

**Rohan**

Eomer punched the wall in frustration. His uncle was clearly beyond help, unless Gandalf or Harry turned up, something he thought unlikely, as he wrung his fingers. Gandalf had last been seen travelling to Isengard and hadn't been seen or heard of since, while Harry… he remembered the pain, confusion and fear in his friends eyes when the spell hit. If he was alive, he was unable to help. For the foreseeable future at the very least.

And now he was confined to his quarters, unless he was escorted by Wormtongue's shifty looking guards. The only chance he got to properly talk to Theodred was once in every three patrols when they rode together. Theodred was quiet, having withdrawn into himself, his father's decline and seeming betrayal having hit him hard.

Eowyn just looked defeated, cold and angry, like a caged eagle that wants to be free.

Rohan needed help, and fast, that he knew. Or it was doomed.

**Btw, this isn't going to turn into a 'Haldir is perpetually a complete dick' fic. He's just a bit stuck up and distinctly on edge with the Ring War and will mellow eventually. Among other things, Dol Guldur is far too close for comfort. **

**Now, as reward for my labours, please click the not so little button down there. *Does puppy dog eyes* Please?**


	14. Chapter 14: The Strange Ways of Wizards

**A/N: 18 reviews! Thank you all, and I say unto you: **_**More**_**! Pretty Please. With a Cherry on top. And as a reward, your eighth chapter in 60 days, and third in 5 days! And a long one at that.**

**This is a rather Rohan centric chapter, because it's the last big bit (I think) from them before Eomer gets exiled, and some plot centric things happen.**

**The blindfolding bit hasn't/won't happen because, well, you can guess why. Also, 2 films are quoted below, one quite obviously the other less so. Also, taking a cue from Virtuella's fantastic 'Truth be Told', something I agreed with when she asked me about it, is making the Dunlendings the equivalent of the Welsh. **

**Why? Because the Rohirrim were Tolkien's dream version of the Anglo-Saxons, one that had developed cavalry that could fend off the Normans. The Rohirrim were granted the land later known as Rohan by the Steward Cirion of Gondor in the Third Age, pushing out the previous inhabitants. In Britain, the Saxons came and pushed the ancestors of the modern day Welsh and Cornish West. The Welsh called England 'Lloegyr', meaning 'lost lands'. Being proudly Welsh (most of me is Welsh and the just under half is English, making me a walking paradox), I can empathise with the Dunlendings and their desperation, but in this the Rohirrim come off better. In fairness, I like both a lot. The OC (please tell me if I've made him a Marty Stue) I'm introducing in this chapter may become more important later, but is only likely to take centre stage in a side story or sequel (which I am planning).**

Night fell in Lothlorien, while they were still some miles from the citadel. Haldir whistled up at the tree's and an elf up amongst them dropped down a deceptively thin looking ladder, which Gimli looked at with distinctly worried expression.

"Will it hold my weight?" He asked, eyeing it.

"It will. Elven rope ladders last as long as their grudges and are twice as strong." Harry deadpanned.

Gimli chuckled slightly, as Harry added fairly, "The only thing that outlasts it and is stronger than it, is their loyalty and their word once given," a turn of phrase that mollified a few of the Elves who had begun to look noticeably grumpy.

"You use fair speech, Master Potter. If only you did so more often." Haldir said loftily. Yep, Harry thought, he was still irritated. Damage control needed.

"I use it when I feel it is warranted." Harry said mildly, then followed Legolas up the rope ladder as Haldir glared slightly. The rest made it up, Gimli a trifle reluctantly, but upon feeling the softness and strength of the cord muttered approving how his father would love some of this, drawing a grateful smile from an elf by the name of Rumil, whose sister helped make the ropes.

"Indeed Master Dwarf, maybe when this is over the old trade relations could be set up again." The young elf chattered excitedly on the _talan_, perhaps too young to remember the old problems, or merely more friendly and open-minded, drawing a reproving stare from one of his fellows.

"Aye laddie, I would like that." Gimli said warmly. Here was an elf, Legolas aside, that he could like, not merely respect. Harry was grinning madly. He'd suggested to Gimli that he swap positions supposedly to talk with Aragorn, breaking the ice as he did so with a comment that Gimli was renowned even among his own people for his skills with jewellery, something which elves had always loved and admired about the dwarves.

"I think it's going rather well," he said to Aragorn in Rohirric, having picked up a conversational skill in it during his many travels and stays in Rohan. It also had the advantage that the only remaining party member with a chance of understanding what they were saying was Boromir, who understood quite a bit of the language, as long as it was spoken slowly. Which it wasn't in this case. The man in question glowered suspiciously, until Harry told him slowly what they talking about. He nodded and grinned, though a hint of doubt remained in his eyes.

"And It is gaining a foothold in our friends head," Harry said grimly, using words that Boromir was unlikely to pick up on.

"I know. You must speak to him of It. He will not trust me or anyone else in his state. As for your plans," He said, nodding to where Legolas, Rumil and Gimli were chatting amiably, "I'm not entirely sure if Thranduil will be entirely pleased."

"Thranduil doesn't scare me." Harry said breezily, and when Aragorn raised an eyebrow in blatant disbelief, he amended, "he doesn't scare me much."

"You seem to have dealt with your grief for Gandalf well." Aragorn said neutrally. When Harry looked up, vaguely puzzled, he elaborated. "You haven't set fire to half the wood yet."

"No. Galadriel wouldn't be pleased, and I feel I need to grieve for him at some other point. Besides, I have this feeling… as if pieces are being moved, as if this is a far larger game than any of us had imagined. Things are stirring that haven't stirred for an age of this earth." Harry said softly.

"That as may be, but Gandalf is still dead." Aragorn said bluntly. There was no use or good in Harry kindling a false hope that Gandalf may be alive.

"I know. And I will grieve for him later." Harry said calmly. And that was the end of it.

As twilight turned to night, all fell asleep, save the elves on guard. Even Frodo eventually fell asleep, though he soon woke everyone up with a scream. Harry snapped bolt upright, and locked eyes ever so briefly with the thing that was attacking Frodo. It was small, bony and hissed like some sort insane cat. Gollum. Harry fired a stunner at the creature, but it moved fast, dodging the spell and a hail of elf arrows, hissing defiance once more, then disappeared, several elves in hot pursuit.

Harry apparated over to Frodo's talan, scaring the poor hobbit further and causing Sam to nearly hit him over the head with a frying pan.

"Don't go scaring people like that Master Harry!" Sam scolded.

"Sorry. I didn't think. And please don't call me Master, just Harry. It brings back bad memories." Harry said with a wince, thinking of Dobby.

"Sorry M- Harry." Sam said.

"Is Frodo all right?" Harry asked crouching down to examine the frightened Hobbit.

"That foul creature never touched him. He's fine in body, but in mind?" Sam looked down doubtfully at the terrified and wide eyed Frodo.

"Frodo. Frodo look at me." Harry said firmly, gripping the Ringbearer by the chin and turning his face gently towards him, looking him dead in the eyes, deep green locking with deep blue.

"You're safe now, among friends. The creature Gollum is gone, it can't hurt you. And if I have my way it will rue the day it tried." Harry said kindly. "Sam, look after him. I'm off to have a word with Haldir." He spotted the Marchwarden on the ground below and disapparated, the sun rising in the background, casting a soft glow over the forest.

"What was that creature?" Haldir said, bewildered. Few creatures were so agile and stealthy. Harry didn't blame him for his confusion, or for the fact Gollum managed to sneak past their guard.

"Gollum. Formerly known as Sméagol, and 3rd bearer of the One Ring after Sauron and Isildur. The Ring gave him a lengthened life span, but addicted him and warped him. He was once of some sort of Hobbit stock, now, no one quite knows what he is."

"We've been hearing of babies disappearing from cots, small woodsman's children being taken when their parent's attention was elsewhere for but a moment…" Haldir said. "I take it this Gollum creature is responsible."

"Almost certainly." Harry replied grimly. "Especially if the tales of Bilbo, Gandalf and Aragorn are correct."

"Then he has a long overdue date with Eru's judgement, even if it takes me the rest of my life to find him." Haldir said, eyes narrowing.

"_There's _the Haldir I know and love. The one willing to go to the ends of the earth to right wrongs, but it took Aragorn and Gandalf together months to find him, and right now we don't have the time." Harry said, clapping the thoroughly puzzled elf on the back.

"Aragorn is with us right now, and the creature cannot have gone far." Haldir said stubbornly.

"Why didn't you list him among our assets?" Harry said, affecting slight irritation, then grinned, as if there was a joke only he was privy to. Haldir, not unsurprisingly, looked puzzled. Still, at least Harry seemed to have forgiven him, for now anyway. The raw fury in Harry's eyes had been an unsettling sight, especially when hanging upside down and utterly helpless. Now he was merely puzzling. The Marchwarden vaguely wondered if the young wizard had gone mad at some point, a possibility borne out by Aragorn rolling his eyes and wearing an expression that said 'Get used to it.'

"Harry, in case you had taken total leave of your senses, something I have long suspected, we are on a quest. There is no time to hunt Gollum." Legolas said dryly.

Harry merely pouted slightly. "Has Harry truly gone mad?" Boromir whispered to Aragorn, momentarily putting aside his Ring induced worries. "You know him better than anyone."

"It's less a question of whether he has gone mad, more that he seems to be being more obvious about. Mithrandir's fall may have pushed him over the edge." Aragorn whispered back, half concerned half sarcastic. Harry and Legolas were having an adverse effect on him.

"You're delaying us laddie." Gimli said, somewhat testily.

Harry walked past the Fellowship and their escort, saying "Waiting on you now." With mingled sounds of exasperation and amusement, they followed the strangely jaunty wizard, while the soft laughter of the Lady of the Golden Wood sparkled in the early morning ether.

**Rohan**

Eomer waved away a groom. Like arming himself, he preferred to put on his horses tack by himself, especially with Wormtongue and his minions around, any one of whom could just say, tighten the girth just a_ little_ too loose, causing him to fall off at exactly the wrong moment. Theodred was doing the same, having come to the same conclusion. Living under the shadow of Isengard taught proper levels of paranoia, especially in these most troubled of times. Eomer wanted to talk to his cousin. Theodred would have a plan. Possibly one that would involve thwarting the rumoured Uruk mustering at the Fords of Isen.

Eomer was far from stupid, and in another timeline, would have made a great and shrewd King, but it was Theodred who had the knack for dealing with politics and complex plots, while Eomer was the better general. Each had always accepted the other's strengths, save for that short period in their teenage years when each felt they had to prove they were top dog due to hormonal imbalances, causing Eowyn to despairingly cry, 'boys! Complete idiots!', at the somewhat ridiculous posturing. Hermione would have been able to empathise with the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and Only Sane Woman of Rohan.

Both mounted up, and trotted to the head of the column, purposefully interposing trusted men between them and Wormtongue's minders.

"What's the plan of action, cousin?" Eomer asked quietly.

"There is no plan. We had one chance, one shot and it failed." Theodred said flatly, then quirked his face into a quasi-smile, looking sidelong at Eomer. "Maybe it would have worked better if you had dressed in one of Eowyn's dresses."

"Are you sure you would rather deal with an enraged Eowyn when the dress inevitably broke?" Eomer countered.

Theodred shuddered. "Good point and well made. God knows I love my cousin as dearly as any of my family still living, but she terrifies me sometimes."

"Watch it, or she might make you eat some of her cooking." Eomer said dryly.

"Maybe we could force Wormtongue to eat some. See how well he corrupts father whilst glued to the Privy." Theodred said thoughtfully.

"He may not corrupt father if that happens, but he'll poison half the city if what happened to you is any indication." Eomer replied.

"Trust you to bring that up." Theodred said, making a face of disgust. "Speaking of the people, they look frightened. And starving."

"Aye, they are. Saruman has Dunlendings fighting for him. Maybe we can take their supplies. Unlike those of the orcs, they at least should be fit for consumption." Eomer said, mulling it over.

"If we beat them. I am not sure how large this force is." Theodred said grimly. He turned and commanded scouts be sent out. What he didn't know, turning around before they left, was that the scouts were Wormtongue's men.

When they arrived at the Fords, the force before them was small, and according to scout reports passed up the line, unsupported.

"I would suggest we split our forces cousin. You command the first attack on the enemy, and my force can move around to the enemy rear and mop up whatever is left, while fending off any unexpected interference from Isengard."

"The scouts said nothing was nearby." Theodred said, with a cocked head. Eomer had the feeling he was being tested.

"I find it is most prudent to hope for the best and prepare the worst cousin." He said.

"A good plan and a wise philosophy. Eomer, circle your eored round the right flank and keep below the skyline and hide on the edge of the forest until the time comes to attack. My eored will attack, and yours will pick off any survivors." Theodred summarised decisively. He waited 5 minutes, and once he was certain the time was right, he bellowed, "Forth Eorlingas!" The horses were kicked into a trot, then a canter, then a gallop, each trooper drawing a weapon of choice. This was what Theodred loved about war. Not the death, or the killing, though if he was facing orcs he took a certain savage satisfaction in ridding the world of another creature that sort to despoil all that was good. It was the feeling of being part of a greater whole, part of the herd that moved in synchrony as if of one mind and body. Feeling _together_. Adrenaline aside, he hadn't really felt that since his father, uncle, aunt and cousins had had the occasional quite moment in his youth.

Then there was the shuddering crash of impact, as the enemy ran helpless before them. He hacked down one orc, then another, beheading a dunlending. Then he wheeled his horse to find another target. As he got closer, the target turned and with a jolt he realised two things. The target was human, thin and dark haired with frightened light green eyes. Almost like a younger version of Harry. The boy couldn't be more than 15. As the impact came closer, he shifted grip on his sword and clobbered the youngster, who had raised a rusty sword in a shaky but defiant defence with the flat of his blade, sending the boy reeling. He looked around him, then dismounted. They might as well take a prisoner. The boy had recovered his equilibrium, and, Theodred was secretly impressed to see, held his sword up in what must have been wild courage in the face of what must have been to him some sort of demon in armour. The boy lunged, surprisingly fast, but Theodred simply caught his arm and twisted, forcing the boy to drop the blade. He removed his helmet and said gently, "You are brave, but outmatched. Surrender, and I swear on the blood of my ancestors that you will not be harmed by I or my men."

The light green eyes, not as deep or dark as Harry's, but still intriguing widened, looking at something over his shoulder. Then the boy slithered out of his grip and shoved him violently to one side. Theodred was about to swear a blue streak about stubborn Dunlendings when he felt an Uruk blade cut into his side. If that boy hadn't pushed him to one side, that swipe would have removed his head. He staggered and turned to face his foe, one hand clutching his dagger, having dropped his sword, and the other clutching his side. The Uruk in question was enormous, a good 7 feet tall, and it snarled at him, slashing once more. He managed to fend off the blow, and the next. He couldn't survive much longer. The only reason he had survived this long was because this Uruk was as stupid as it was large.

What he didn't see was the boy, known solely as Emrys, watching the fight, and coming to a decision. The Horselord hadn't needed to spare his life, nor had he needed to compliment him and take him prisoner so gently. Besides, he had gone to war to avenge his father, not to fight alongside creatures such as this that barely distinguished friend from foe and had no concept of honour. It had also dawned on him, he not being stupid, and with his father dead, he had a lot of time to think, how they were created, and the price at which the conquest of Rohan was to be bought by the Chiefs of the Dunlendings.

Over the last few years women had disappeared from both his own people and those of the Horseman, raiders taking any and all women to the White Hand in the dark tower. He knew why they had been taken and for what purpose. The Horseman may be cold and cruel, but they never stooped so low. He picked up Theodred's dropped sword and hefted it. The Horsemen made good steel that much he would admit.

His father, before he had been killed, had rigorously taught him the advice that had been passed from father to son since before the Horsemen took LLoegyr. 'Meet honour with honour, insult with insult'. This Horselord had shown him honour, and he was bound to do the same. That decided he moved slowly and silently behind the Uruk, and, seeing a weak point in the abomination's armour, lunged in a slightly clumsy, but efficient manner skewering the surprised creature. Unable to pull the sword out again, he grabbed his own rusty blade, blocking the dying but enraged Uruk's blows, leading it away from the injured Horselord. As he tired, one blow slipped through, scoring his arm, and as he yelled in pain, the Uruk got the second, surprise from behind when Eomer's spear took it in the back.

Emrys reached down, and dazedly removed first the spear and then the sword, handing the spear to a thoroughly puzzled Eomer, who examined him closely, then narrowed his eyes and hefted his spear.

"You're a Dunlending! Why did you save his life?" Eomer said, angry and puzzled.

"He spared mine when I was at his mercy, and disarmed me gently, offering his word of honour that I would be fairly treated. My father, a peaceful herdsman, once a raider, slain by _your _people, taught me this: 'Honour for honour, Insult for insult.' My mother was one of your own, taken in a raid who fell in love with my father. She died many years ago, and when he was killed, I felt betrayed by your people. I joined the army of the White Hand to get vengeance on you but this Horselord showed me kindness that he didn't need to." The boy said casually, though with a palpable harshness when talking about the death of his father.

"I also did not join to fight alongside monsters like that," he said, spitting at the fallen Uruk, "I have worked out how they are made." With eyes suddenly full of sorrow and pain that were suddenly disturbing reminiscent of Harry's, he said, "Have you noticed that women and girls are being taken more and more in raids over the last few years, by my people and the Uruk's?" Eomer nodded warily, not sure what to make of this boy who spoke perfect common and spoke with a measured coherence. Maybe his mother had been minor nobility, and ensured he got something approaching an education, Eomer thought vaguely, ordering the couple of men that had gone to stop Theodred's bleeding and tend to him to make a bandage.

"They took ours as well. They said that they had gone to work, or had mysteriously died, and we never saw them again. I hoped that my older sister, taken this last year, would be where we mustered, another reason I joined. That was how the White Hand created these creatures. I see that now, our Chieftains have sold their souls for a chance to retake Lloegyr. I will not be a part of that. And that is why I saved your kinsman Horselord."

"How did you know he was my kinsman?" Eomer said, surprised.

"I have seen the look that you have on your face many times after a raid, when someone has lost a brother, sister, mother, father, son or daughter. Too many times. I also see a resemblance in your face. My name is Emrys ap Derfel, Horselord. If I am to be your prisoner as your kinsman intended, I would ask yours." The boy, Emrys, said firmly.

"My name is Eomer, son of Eomund. I am the 3rd Marshal of the Riddermark and Cousin to the man you saved, Prince Theodred, who is heir apparent to the throne of Rohan." Eomer said, still not quite believing this was happening.

Emrys bent down and examined the late Uruk's sword, and sniffed it, looked at his bleeding arm and Theodred's wound and swore viciously in the language of the Dunlendings.

"The blade is poisoned." He said flatly.

"Grimbold, take the young one on your horse. We'll need as much information as we can get. Take him round the back entrance to my quarters, tell no one. If the worm should find out about this, I doubt he will live long." Eomer commanded, heaving a now unconscious Theodred into the saddle in front of him, while Grimbold did likewise.

"The scouts my Lord?" Grimbold asked.

"They were Wormtongue's men. Likely they betrayed us to Isengard, and they have been rewarded as traitors deserve." Eomer said, scanning the battlefield. Sure enough, each and every one of the so called scouts was dead.

"Mount up! We ride with all speed to Edoras!" Eomer called loudly. He balanced his cousin carefully. Hopefully they were going to be in time to save them.

**A/N: A clue as to Theodred's ultimate fate is contained within. Happy hunting! And please, review you wonderful people!**


	15. Chapter 15: Mirror Mirror

**A/N: As regards the previous chapter, Emrys is **_**not**_** going to be a major character in this story, not under current planning.****As for sequels, well that's another matter. Sorry about the long speech, but Emrys is basically trying to allay suspicion about his motives early on, and he was, as Eomer guessed, born to a captured low ranking noble Rohirrim lady who educated him after a fashion, hence the surprising. Also, there is now a prequel to this fic, a one shot, one of many hopefully, on the first meeting of Harry and Aragorn. Others I'm planning include the fight between Harry and one of the Nine in Mirkwood, and the resulting injury and convalescence, wherein Harry meets Legolas and Thranduil.**

**Also, there is discussion of weighty themes in this chapter. As regards LGBT, I would like to say that I consider who people sleep with to be their business and hold no objection to someone sleeping with a member of their own gender. However the no slash thing remains, mainly because I just don't see it happening with any of the characters (despite longheld suspicions about Frodo and Sam) and I doubt I could write it very well. **

**This chapter is generally fairly angst heavy, with humour sprinkled liberally throughout.**

Finally the Fellowship entered the ethereal tree top capital of Lothlorien. At one point they had been called upon to walk a tight rope with only a second rope as support. Harry had taken one look and pointedly apparated himself and Gimli across, though he had to cast a quick vanishing charm after Gimli was heartily sick. Apparition, Side-Along or otherwise, didn't agree with everyone. The dwarf had subsequently threatened to cut him in half and feed him to the dogs if he ever did that in all but the direst need ever again, causing amusement among all present, the ice breaking between the Elves and the Fellowship.

As Harry had climbed the staircase, he had pocketed his wand, making it clear to all present that if anything caught fire, he would be an almost innocent bystander.

When they stood in the main chamber of the palace of Lothlorien, they were greeted by the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.

"10 set out from Rivendell, and 9 remain." Galadriel said.

"Where is Gandalf, for I had much desired to speak with him?" Celeborn added, while Galadriel looked around the room, mind-speaking to each Fellowship member individually.

"A Balrog of Morgoth." Legolas said, causing mingled 'Ai's' and gasps to spread around the room.

"He has fallen into the shadow." Galadriel added. Harry had wondered the first time he had seen her so ethereal and mysterious if she was vaguely stoned or mildly drunk. As it was, she was merely using her impressive magical powers for one purpose or another, meaning that much of her attention was elsewhere. In some ways she was like a scarily competent and competently scary version of Professor Trelawney. Trelawney would probably have worshipped Galadriel and Elrond as mighty seers. Harry took a brief moment to imagine Trelawney telling a befuddled Elrond earnestly about the sheer power of his inner eye and the properties of tea leaves. This thought caused Galadriel to give him a benevolent smile that would have been accompanied in someone with less poise and dignity by an affectionate eyeroll.

She then looked sad, and said, "The Quest stands on the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fall into ruin." As she did, she locked eyes with Boromir, clearly speaking with him, and saying something that seemed to scare him, causing him to avert his eyes in fear and shame, almost sobbing slightly.

_Stop doing that_, Harry thought reprovingly at her. It was quite obvious that she was scaring him.

_Some things must be said. You of all people should know that Harry,_ She replied.

_You're not the one who has to deal with his paranoia afterwards,_ Harry grumbled. She did have a point, he noted sourly.

She did not reply and looked to Sam, saying, with a smile, "Yet hope remains while the Company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled, go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight you will rest well." As she said that, Frodo started. Clearly Galadriel had mastered mental multitasking, Harry thought.

They were sent to ground floor quarters, outside, it being obvious that much of the Fellowship, i.e. the Hobbits, Boromir and Gimli, were less than comfortable in the trees.

"A lament for Gandalf." Legolas said, answering the unspoken query about the mysterious and sorrowful singing that permeated Lothlorien.

"What do they say about him?" Boromir asked.

"I haven't the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near." Legolas replied sadly.

Harry cocked his head and listened, "Something about a tireless traveller. I don't speak much Sindarin."

"The tireless part is certainly true. He looked like an old man, yet he was forever telling us to keep up." Harry added, with a smile.

"Take some rest," Aragorn said to the now brooding Boromir, who had moved away from the Company. "These lands are well protected."

"I will find no rest here." Boromir said shortly. Aragorn looked at him, surprised.

"I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said that even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." Aragorn, having been steadily more and more concerned, sat down beside and just behind Boromir, as the latter elaborated.

"My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing, our people's faith…" Boromir gulped, "Whatever it took to make things right, I would do it, to see the glory of Gondor restored." That, Harry thought, sitting in the shadows, was either very good, or very, very bad. It could mean that he would accept Aragorn as King or try to take the Ring for himself.

"Have you ever seen it Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, rearing like a spike of pearl and silver, it's banners blown high in the morning breeze…" Boromir whispered in reverential fashion. "Have you ever been called home by the clear ring of silver trumpets?"

"I have seen the White City, long ago." Aragorn said quietly, having been listening patiently.

"One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call, that the Lords of Gondor have returned. And the Black Wizard, who is currently skulking in the shadows." He said, changing his tone to a happier one, as he looked over Aragorn's shoulder.

"Your father's never liked me very much. I've only seen Minas Tirith, or the Mundburg, once. You were defending the frontier with Mordor at the time, and I was visiting with Theodred and Eomer, who were acting as envoys on some trade matter or other. I got on well with Faramir, who seemed to be endlessly fascinated with my magic." Harry commented, standing up.

"That's Faramir for you: always trying to work out the latest mystery or find a legend." Boromir said with chuckle.

Aragorn stood up and said, "I take my leave. Long have I wanted to see the White City again, and you would be excellent company to see it in."

As Aragorn walked away, Harry gave Boromir a penetrating stare and said, "Your father didn't seem to like Faramir very much. He never stopped talking about you, but barely mentioned his other son." Privately, Harry could vaguely see Denethor's resemblance to Uncle Vernon, except that Denethor was partially the way he was from living on Mordor's doorstep.

"No, he never did." Boromir said, heaving a sigh. "It was less of a problem as children, and my mother loved us both equally, but when she died, Father began to be grimmer and less tolerant of Faramir's scholarly pursuits. Those and Gandalf's visits, anyway. I've tried to make him stop, and he sent me to the Council instead of Faramir, saying 'I know his uses and they are few', to his face. I told him off about it, but he was having known of it and sent me anyway. Faramir would have been better for the Quest I think. He's better at dealing with people, and knows much of the old lore. He also leads a very competent group of Ranger's, modelled on those lead by Captain Thorongil." Harry raised an eyebrow. Thorongil was one of Aragorn's many aliases, and there was a lot of his past he refused to talk about.

"When did Thorongil fight for Gondor?" Harry asked.

"45-60 years ago, in Ecthelion's time." Boromir replied. "He's almost certainly dead now."

"He could have been one of the Dunedain. They live for a ridiculously long time, and fight as Rangers. They also, like Thorongil did from what I've heard from Theoden, have hygiene issues. Apparently it's to blend in." Harry said casually.

"Aragorn's father?" Boromir said, looking where Aragorn had gone.

"Nope. He died when Aragorn was 2."

"So?"

"Aragorn is pushing 90."

"Ah. Aragorn?" Boromir asked, incredulous.

"I don't know. But he did spend a lot of time travelling in his youth." Harry said cryptically, and stood up, stretching. "I would like to see the White City again, but only if you promise to make sure that your father doesn't kill me for turning his sceptre and robes bright pink when he accused Faramir of not consorting with enough eligible young women at parties."

Boromir grinned. "I wondered why he was in such a bad mood when I got back. I can't promise, but I can say that you have reformed. But I'm not a very good liar either." Then his expression darkened as Harry stood to leave.

"You didn't do Faramir any favours with that trick, no matter how well meant."

"Why?"

"He didn't talk to or about Faramir for three months after that."

"I would have thought that would be blessing, since he spent every other sentence blithely talking about Faramir's perceived failures." Harry said lightly.

"Courtiers talked. Gossiped behind Faramir's back. Speculated and smeared his reputation, by saying that he was clearly interested in young men instead of women, you being one of the chief candidates. I never had a problem with that possibility. You command in the army, you get used to turning a blind eye to frightened soldiers turning to another man for comfort, particularly on the more dangerous frontlines. But in court, that sort of thing can ruin a man. I squashed the rumours, but they very occasionally resurface, not for long, but still. It meant that Faramir had a very difficult year or so. I know that he doesn't hold it against you, but you owe him an apology at some point. Every action has its consequence, Harry. Especially when someone like you or I wields great power." Boromir said grimly, meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry stayed still for a very long time, then said quietly, "That I do." Then he walked away. He had a lot of thinking to do.

"Boromir." He called back.

The Gondorian turned, and said, "Yes?"

"Thank you. For reminding me of that. And I wanted to say that you are not the only one the Ring tempts and whispers to. Remember that any gifts it promises are short lived and hollow, nothing but illusions." Harry said quietly.

Boromir nodded. "Good night Harry."

"Good night Boromir."

Later that night, Galadriel walked barefoot through the where the Fellowship slept. All but two slumbered peacefully on, as the Lady had promised. Frodo awoke with a start, and followed the glowing Lady. Harry woke more slowly, pulling his Invisibility cloak around himself and silencing his feet.

As the Hobbit and the Wizard followed behind, the latter shadowing both, the Lady walked down some stairs into a sort of glade, with a small fountain and an engraved stone pedestal with a silver bowl set upon it. Harry suppressed a gasp. The legendary Mirror of Galadriel. Few saw it and fewer spoke of what they saw. Trelawney would have _killed _for something like that, Harry thought amusedly as he settled himself in a corner of the glade to watch.

She dipped a silver jug into the pool created by the fountain and turned, the jug full, to see Frodo, who she had almost certainly known was there.

"Will you look into the mirror?" She asked.

"What will I see?" Frodo replied slowly and warily.

"Even the wisest cannot tell, for the Mirror shows many things," Galadriel said enigmatically, pouring the water from the jug into the bowl. Privately Harry admired her precision. Not one drop was wasted. "Things that were, things that are, and some things… that have not yet come to pass." She said, never dropping her gaze and stepping away from the now full Mirror.

Frodo hesitantly stepped up and looked down into the Mirror. What he saw plainly discomforted him, as Galadriel kept a watchful eye on him, and Harry was disturbed to note, on the Ring when it snuck out of his shirt. Slowly it dropped towards the Mirror, and an orange light emanated from the Mirror. Eventually Frodo managed to wrest it from above the Mirror with a cry, and stumbled backwards as the Mirror steamed. Galadriel had not moved throughout. Harry watched. This was getting worrying.

Galadriel looked sidelong at Frodo and said, in a deeper voice than normal, "I know what it is you saw. For it is also in my mind," her voice growing harsher as she turned face on to Frodo. Her face had gained a harsher cast as had her expression. Then she seemed to speak to Frodo mind to mind, but Harry could guess. Failure of the quest. Then Frodo did something that nearly made Harry jump out of cover. He lifted the Ring from around his neck and held out in his upturned palm to Galadriel. The situation had officially gone from worrying to terrifying.

"You offer it to me freely," Galadriel said, almost dazedly, a little surprised, as she advanced on Frodo.

"I cannot deny that my heart has greatly desired this," She said, her own outstretched hand trembling like her voice. Harry silently drew his wand. This could get messy. Then Galadriel spread her hands wide, her voice deepening, "In place of a Dark Lord you would have a _Queen_! _Not Dark but as beautiful and terrible as the Dawn, as treacherous as the sea, stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and __**despair!" **_As she said this, the air darkened and her face took on an otherworldly and frighteningly perfect seeming, a fey light emanating from within her, the robes on her arms turned to rags and a silver metal breastplate over her dress, an unseen wind billowing as all the area around her darkened.

Shit, Harry thought, and a whole string of unprintable words. Saruman was one thing. Galadriel with the Ring was a whole other matter. A natural Legilimens on her scale with the raw power of the One Ring would be a terrifying foe to face, even with all the circumstances stacked in his favour, such as the entire auror squads of Europe and the America's behind him and her half asleep. Then, thankfully, the light diminished and disappeared, leaving only Galadriel in her normal attire, and it was Galadriel's turn to breathe quickly.

"I passed the test. I will diminish and go into the West and remain Galadriel." She said, with a relief that was matched only by Harry's. Frodo simply looked even more defeated than before.

"I cannot do this alone," Frodo said despairingly.

Galadriel turned back to him, and said gravely and compassionately, "You are a Ringbearer Frodo. To be a Ringbearer is to be alone."

Frodo looked down, in a heartbreaking manner that reminded Harry so much of himself when he was young, wondering, 'Why me?'

"This task was given to you. If you do not succeed, no one will." Galadriel said.

"I know what I must do. But I am afraid to do it." Frodo said sadly.

Galadriel bent down, nose to nose with Frodo, and looked him in the eye. "Even the smallest person can change the course of History."

Frodo clasped the Ring once more and put it back around his neck.

Harry chose that moment to reveal himself, pulling off his cloak and stepping forward. "And that smallest person is not alone. You are never alone. In the end, you must do the deed yourself, but we will all be there, each and every one of us, and we will all do our utmost to help and protect you." He said, hugging Frodo around the shoulders.

Frodo stiffened cautiously out of surprise, understandably after what Galadriel had just done, then leaned into the hug and said quietly, "Thank you."

After a long moment, they broke the hug, and Frodo walked back to his bed with much to worry about, tempered by the knowledge that his friends were there to help him.

Meanwhile Harry stared at Galadriel, raised a solitary eyebrow and said, "You too, huh?"

Galadriel looked slightly confused, then said, comprehension dawning, "Ah. You mean the temptation of the one Ring."

"Indeed. It has tried to take me, you, and as you and I both know, it is trying to take Boromir, who has the best intentions and the weakest resilience to such blandishments. Sometimes I wonder if he wasn't right, and his brother wasn't the better choice for this quest." Harry said.

"Faramir, Captain of Gondor will have his role to play before this is all over." Galaldriel said quietly, then looked down at the no longer steaming Mirror, which now sat still and tranquil on its pedestal.

"Would you also look into the Mirror?" Galadriel asked him.

Harry paused, and then nodded. The Mirror was one of the most powerful magical objects he had come across, and it was a rarely accorded honour to be allowed to look into. He stood as Frodo had, his hands on the side of the pedestal and looking down into it. Images began to form on the dark and still surface, showing, though he did not know it, the same images as Frodo had seen, the Fellowship. Then the images changed, to Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, then the Burrow. At first the images were peaceful, showing Harry snippets of his past, and, for one heart breaking moment, Ginny leaning out of her window in the Burrow, her lips forming the words; 'Where are you Harry?'.

Then the images changed: Sauron, in the form of a great man in black armour with the Ring once more on his hand, leading his armies across Middle Earth, burning and destroying Minas Tirith, Edoras and countless other places. Then, Sauron was shown sending a force under Saruman and the Witch King to Lothlorien, where they discovered something. Something that brought them to Harry's world.

Tears rolled down Harry's cheeks as he saw the forces of Mordor crush the woefully underprepared Wizards, then Muggles, who put up a rather better fight, slaughtering thousands with bullets and planes, but after a long struggle they too fell, and both worlds were covered in darkness. He saw the Weasley's, everyone he knew and cared for, tortured, murdered or enslaved. He saw Voldemort, brought back from the Veil of Death as a hideously twisted Wraith, second only to the Witch King in cruelty and power. He saw the end of hope, light snuffed out, as both worlds were eternally plundered by the forces of darkness.

And he saw Ginny, whose fate does not bear describing, a fate he could not put words to. And he saw himself, trapped in the same punishment as Hurin had been in the First Age by Morgoth, forced to watch the horrendous fates of those who he cared for without rest or respite for hundreds of years. And the Great Eye reigned supreme over all.

Harry turned away from the Mirror, and spat, "Enough." Tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks. "That will not come to pass. If I have to fight Sauron himself and all his minions with my bare hands it will _not happen._ _**Do you hear me?**_" Harry snarled.

Galadriel stood silently. Harry was in a dangerous mood, and she was well aware that provoking him further would quite possibly be the worst idea in her immortal life. As Harry was reduced to sobbing, she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He flinched, then relaxed after a moment.

"Young Wizard, your burden is almost as great as Frodo's. Everyone looks to you and Aragorn for leadership and reassurance now that Mithrandir has passed on, and in your power they forget your youth. You hold in your hands the fate of two worlds. You _must _prevent Boromir from taking the Ring, for he will try soon. We both know this, and if you can, you must save his life. You must protect the Ringbearer. If you fail, what you saw in the Mirror is what will come to pass without a doubt. I am sorry young one, but that is your burden."

Galadriel knelt down beside Harry, who had sat down, still sobbing quietly, "Know that if any of the wise, I, my husband, Lord Elrond or your own Albus Dumbledore could bear it for you, we would without hesitation. When he sent you hear, Albus did not know of the trials you would undergo. When he heard that you were to be chosen for this task, he pleaded that another be sent in your place. He said that you had suffered enough, that you deserved surcease. Instead he was forced to accept a bargain. In your hours of need, help will come." Galadriel said quietly and consolingly.

"Am I strong enough? I failed to defeat Saruman, not once but twice, and I failed to save Gandalf from the Balrog. I do not see how I can do all that you ask of me." Harry said, drying his tears.

"You have to be. Or we are all doomed. One day you will have power almost without equal, and until then, you will receive help, because you need it and you deserve it." Galadriel answered him.

"That's what Gandalf said. And Professor Dumbledore, 12 years ago." Harry said slowly. He looked up at Galadriel who smiled enigmatically.

"Help is coming little one." She said.

"Please don't call me that, it makes me feel about 11 years old." Harry complained, removing the permanent sticking charm on his fogged up glasses and cleaning them.

Galadriel laughed softly. "You must rest now. I fear that rest will not be easy in the coming days."

"I will." And he disappeared with a light crack. And finally, all slept peacefully in Lothlorien.


	16. Chapter 16: Breaking Of The Fellowship

**A/N: I'm on fire! Another chapter, even bigger than the last!**

**Some things happen slightly differently from canon in this chapter, and some absolutely awesome stuff is added, if I say so myself.**

The patrol galloped into Edoras, not slowing as they raced through the gates, Eomer wearing a grim expression while he effortlessly controlled his horse in a masterful display of horsemanship and held up the lolling and now pale Theodred, whose bandages were soaked. At his curt nod, two trusted men circled around to the rear, taking Emrys to his quarters. His wounds were rather less extensive, and it would be very difficult to hide a Prince of Rohan as compared to a half Dunlending prisoner.

Once Theodred was ensconced, he would have words with the King and Grima. Maybe Theodred's nigh mortal wounds and a helmet with the sign of the White Hand would break the enchantment. Hope was failing in Rohan.

The Fellowship spent several weeks in Lothlorien, resting and recovering. Legolas joined in and consistently won archery competitions, Aragorn took much counsel from Celeborn and Galadriel, planning the Company's next move, Harry entertained the Hobbits and Boromir with tales of his past and a selection of rude drinking songs as well as pressganging Haldir into showing them around the city, keeping a close watch on Boromir all the while. Sam soon enthusiastically joined the elves whose job it was to maintain the Mallorn trees, and spent much of his time with them.

Gimli had examined the rope that Idril, the sister of Rumil, and her fellows made, and pronounced it magnificent. That and the simple, yet beautiful silver and gold pendants he made for each of them, pronouncing that beauty must be rewarded with beauty in an unexpected bout of eloquence, had won him the somewhat grudging approval of most of the Galadhrim and the outright friendship of most others.

Since his father Gloin had given him free rein to negotiate in matters of trade (though it is likely he was thinking of the wealth of Gondor when he had done so, not of the elven kingdoms) on his behalf, a basic agreement, to be finalised in peacetime, for rope and durable cloth in exchange for either weapons, jewellery, or assistance in building and rebuilding great structures.

Some naysayers among the elves still muttered about Doriath, but the pointedly declared approval of Celeborn, himself originally from Doriath and with no particular prior love for Dwarves, as well as that of Aragorn, Harry and Legolas, all highly regarded in elven society, was enough to quieten their speech.

When they came to leave, the Lady Galadriel gave each member of the company gifts: She gave Aragorn the Elfstone, a beautiful and rather strange emerald that seemed to have trapped sunlight within it, as well as a proper sheath for his sword, to Merry and Pippin, she gave silver belts with fine sheaths for their swords, to Boromir she gave a gold belt, and at Harry's suggestion, an elven steel enhancement on his shield, which rendered it stronger but hardly any heavier.

To Legolas she gave a Galadhrim bow strung with elf hair and arrows, to Gimli she gave, upon stuttered request that drew smiles from all present, 3 hairs from head, which he stored carefully. To Frodo she gave the Phial of Galadriel, which glowed slightly with the captured starlight of the Gil-Estel, otherwise known as Earendil's ship Vingilot. To Sam she gave a box with letter G on it, which was apparently some sort of super fertiliser and some elven rope, remarking with a smile that it was to be the first much to flow out into the wide world from Lothlorien. To Harry she gave a set of light elven armour much like Legolas's and a feather light steel helmet with the wings like a hawk engraved on it and an emerald that matched his eyes set in the centre of the forehead, saying knowingly that his shield charms might be needed elsewhere.

"I was also asked to pass on these. And from what I know of you, they are richly deserved and heirlooms of your House." Galadriel said, waving forward an attendant, who held out a folded piece of red and gold cloth with something long and light inside it. Harry gently unwrapped it, and gasped. The first item was one he had never seen before, a flowing shortened surcoat that covered his chest with the rampant lion of Gryffindor in gold on a beautiful crimson background. The other object was more familiar. In a beautifully embossed gold and red sheath was the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry drew it slowly and marvelled at the blade, which seemed to have resized itself to fit his hand perfectly. Probably part of the enchantment, Harry thought.

"Help is given in Arda to those who deserve it… But who?" Harry whispered, awestruck, and looked up at Galadriel who merely smiled enigmatically. He bowed deeply from the waist, hand on his heart, accepting the gifts with the good grace that he had long since learned was expected in Middle Earth.

Also given were Lembas, the legendary elven waybread, 9 perfectly fitted grey elven cloaks and several beautiful boats to aid their passage to the Falls of Rauros. The Fellowship took their leave of Lothlorien, quietly admiring their gifts. Harry had put on the light armour, and strapped the sword of Gryffindor to his back but stowed the helmet and surcoat, flushing and muttering embarrassedly that it was far too noticeable for their mission, earning good natured jeers from the Fellowship.

"Ah Laddie, you'll be beating of the lasses with a stick if you wear that bonnie armour." Gimli said teasingly.

"Nay Gimli, for beautiful though it is, the poor maiden who looked upon Harry would be blinded on all but the most overcast of days." Legolas countered slyly.

"Though they would be a poor substitute for maidens, Harry could blind Orc's in battle, making them much easier to kill." Boromir said thoughtfully.

Laughter spread through the Fellowship as they rowed steadily down river. That night they stopped off at a sandy outcrop. The Fellowship washed, and Harry started a fire as darkness fell before Gimli and Legolas could argue who was better at starting fires again. Sam cooked dinner, Merry and Pippin pointing out, surprisingly logically, that whilst waybread sustained then settled down, pillowing his head on a bedroll.

As the moon rose, Harry just lay there and watched the stars and the listened to the crackle and pop of the fire. His reverie was interrupted by a soft splashing then the swish of an arrow and a hasty splash as whatever had been shot at scrambled out of the way. Legolas, who had been on watch, had his new bow in his hands and was scanning the river carefully, looking to see if his target would reappear. Harry stood and moved carefully, sand crunching beneath his feet, to stand just behind Legolas's right shoulder.

"What is it?" Harry asked quietly.

"Gollum." Legolas said grimly.

"He is too good a waterman to be lost easily," Aragorn said, causing Harry to jump in shock, not for the first time. Aragorn derived mild amusement from sneaking up on Harry, as if to remind him that he had done so at their first meeting and could still do so just as easily. Harry usually got his own back by silencing his feet and doing the same.

"Would you stop being so silent and, and, and…" Harry hissed, at a loss for words momentarily, "and… Rangery!"

"Is that even a real word?" Aragorn asked with quiet amusement.

"If it isn't yet, it should be." Harry grumbled.

"The new word is as unexpected as Harry's new armour." Legolas deadpanned.

"Oh God, not this again." Harry moaned, "I'm going back to sleep."

And he walked back to his bedroll and curled up, quiet snickers following him all the while.

The next morning they continued rowing down the Anduin. All was apparently quiet and peaceful, except for the sub-audible sound of nerves fraying. Though the Fellowship were all excruciatingly aware of how vulnerable they were to arrows from the cliffs on both sides of the river, nothing came. No war cry, no unexpected arrow storm, nothing. Suddenly a large flock of birds flew, calling in alarm, raising the Fellowship's collective paranoia up to eleven.

Something was in the forest. It was large, scary and following them. Harry moved his wand into easier reach. Being a moment faster with a spell could be vital. However, nothing befell them, and sculling gently down river in the elven boats that cut through water like a knife through cloth. Eventually they reached the falls of Rauros, and Aragorn nudged Frodo.

"Frodo, look."

The Ringbearer looked up, and the utterly breath-taking sight of the Argonath temporarily wiped his mind free of worries.

"Bugger me…" Harry said, awed.

"Request denied." Legolas replied. Harry paused to roll his eyes at the dry witted Elf, then resumed staring at the statues, enormous yet magnificently detailed, over 3000 years old, but as sharp in detail as when they were made.

"Just imagine. If Aragorn becomes King we could be seeing giant statues of him all over the place. Or at least wherever he wants to scare something." Harry said conversationally as they were about halfway across the bowl shaped lake between the Argonath and the Falls of Rauros.

"If I ever have to suffer such an indignity, which I sincerely hope I will not, rest assured you will certainly be joining me," Aragorn said with a slight smile.

"Oh no Aragorn, one of me is almost more than one world can handle. I dread to think what would happen if the populace saw something as unfailingly magnificent as a statue of me." Harry said jovially.

"I'm sure they would get used to it." Aragorn deadpanned.

"Now who's acting like small children?" Merry said, faux disapprovingly and with a glint in his eye.

"Him." Aragorn and Harry said in synchrony, pointing at one another.

Boromir, clearly being particularly tried by the Ring and by the casual speech about Aragorn being the heir of Isildur, a fact he was still uncomfortable with, snapped, "Do you think it would be better to make camp than bicker?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and said innocently as they beached the boats, "Of course. I pray you rest happy in the knowledge that we will never act in any other manner than one of total seriousness ever again."

"Now is not the time for jokes Master Potter." Boromir said, clearly on edge.

"Sometimes you have to laugh or you'll cry. That goes for quests to destroy the source of ultimate evil. It is not only your world at stake Boromir, the Mirror of Galadriel showed me that much. If we fail, this world will be overrun by a second darkness, as will mine soon after." Harry shuddered, remembering the wraith-Voldemort. "And many of the things I saw do not bear repeating."

Boromir reined in his temper. "I'm sorry Harry. This quest is trying me more than most," he said, nodding at Frodo, and by extension the Ring.

"Stay strong Boromir." Harry replied sympathetically, patting the Gondorian on the arm.

"When was the last time you used a sword?" asked Boromir, changing the subject abruptly.

"Um, 2 years ago. Eomer taught me the basics and Glorfindel refined my swordsmanship, but I preferred to travel light and use a dagger." Harry replied, caught off guard by the question.

"If that sword is to be anything more than a decoration or a liability, you need practice with it." Boromir said firmly, drawing his own sword, casting aside pack and shield. Harry grinned and drew his the sword of Gryffindor, hefting it slightly. He held it in a guard position and waited for Boromir to make his move.

When he did, it was unexpectedly fast, and Harry barely deflected it. Boromir raised his eyebrows. "You are going to need to be faster than that in battle," he admonished. "Again."

Boromir flicked another slash, which Harry deflected more easily this time, his reflexes coming back to him. Boromir slashed from another direction, turning it into a lunge that Harry slid past his body with a touch of his own blade, stepping sideways with Quidditch and Combat honed reflexes, launching an attack of his own, thrusting and cutting in equal measure, cheered on by the Hobbits.

Boromir calmly fended off the attacks for a minute or so, inwardly somewhat surprised. Harry had been taught well, and he was something of a natural with a blade, though that might have had something to do with his knife work and natural reflexes, which were better than anything short of an elf. Then Boromir twisted, showing unusual grace for a man his size, dodging Harry's latest lunge, stepping between Harry's front and back legs and finally helping Harry over his leg.

As the younger man dropped and rolled, getting up and brushing the damp grit off himself, Boromir sheathed his sword. "You'll do Harry. You'll do nicely. Just remember that most opponents don't just use their swords in combat." He said with satisfaction, as the rest applauded the impromptu sparring session.

Harry's eyes gleamed. "Next time I won't go so easily on you then." He said with a laugh, sheathing the sword of Gryffindor.

"Nor will I." Boromir said with a smile. The duel had taken his mind off the One, a subject that had occupied his mind ever since Moria. Part of him said that it would be wrong to take the Ring, that he had sworn to see the judgement of Council done. Another, darker, part of him, fed by the Ring sung a siren song that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and with such power he could defend Gondor, the country that had wept so many tears for her fallen sons.

Aragorn meanwhile had started a fire and said, "We cross the lake at nightfall. We hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

Gimli immediately responded. "Oh yes? Just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks, and _after that_ it gets even better." Pippin had paused mid-chew, and Legolas was staring worriedly into the surrounding forest. "Festering stinking marshlands as far as the eye can see."

"You make it sound so lovely Gimli. I'll be sure to enjoy the view when we get there." Harry said sarcastically, eyes shut and his head propped up on his pack, having painstakingly reshaped his wand holster to attach to his sword hilt, allowing him to wield both sword and wand at the same time with ease.

"That is our road. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength Master Dwarf." Aragorn said, walking on to look for firewood, Pippin watching the free entertainment.

"Recover my strength? Oh." Gimli spluttered, sitting back down again and grumbling into his beard.

Legolas stepped up to Aragorn, abandoning his watch on the woods, saying, "We should leave now."

"No. Orcs patrol the eastern shore, we must wait for cover of darkness." Aragorn said firmly.

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it." Harry, listening in, opened one eye, making use of a supersensory charm. It was wise not to discount the intuitions of elves, for they were all too often proven right.

Merry added some more wood to the pile, while Gimli continued to mutter about recovering strength, and said, "Where's Frodo?"

Both of Harry's eyes snapped open and looked around the Fellowship's camp, as Sam bolted upright. Two people were missing, Frodo, and, Harry thought as his eyes darted over to Boromir's things, Boromir.

"Merlin's _Balls_!" Harry snarled, leaping up, snatching his sword and buckling it on As he ran to the forest he picked up Boromir's shield and lightened it on the run, summoning his helmet as an afterthought. The surcoat could wait for another time. As he buckled on the helmet, ruby flashing in the afternoon sun, he hoped he wasn't too late.

"Point me Boromir!" He snapped, drawing his wan and watching it spin, following it as it pointed North West. He ran on, and overheard Frodo talking to Boromir, wariness evident in his voice.

"You are not yourself." Harry heard Frodo say, as he ran up the hill.

"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir snarled, clearly pushed beyond reason.

Harry swore under his breath and increased his pace.

"He will take the Ring, and you will beg for death before the end!" Boromir continued, then chased after Frodo. Harry saw them, struggling as Boromir ranted and raved, come into view and was about to stun Boromir before Frodo disappeared from under Boromir, wriggling free with a parting kick.

"I see your mind, you would take the Ring to Sauron! You would betray us! Curse you, and all Halflings!" Boromir roared, driven to madness. With regret, Harry was about to drop him with stunner, but then Boromir slipped and fell, Harry's curse flying overhead. Boromir got up, leaves in his hair and began to whimper softly, his mind returning and conscience with it, "Frodo?"

"What have I done?" He whispered.

"Frodo, I'm sorry!" He yelled, sorrow in his voice, then turned to see Harry staring sadly and compassionately at him from 20 feet away.

"Harry. Are you here to kill me? I have betrayed the quest, I gave into temptation, it is the least I deserve." Boromir rambled sadly. Harry watched him silently and made his decision. He pocketed his wand, covered the distance and held out his hand. Boromir looked at it as if he had never seen a hand before.

"Come on, get up." Harry said sternly. Boromir grasped his hand and stood, unsure of what was happening. Harry eyed him for a long moment, then pulled him into a hug. Boromir may have been more heavily built, but Harry was easily as tall as he was, and wrapped his arms around the sobbing Gondorian.

"Hush now. I forgive you, and I am certainly not going to kill you." Harry said firmly, rubbing Boromir on the back.

"I can never look any of you in the face again, least of all Frodo. You'll all hate me, and be right to. I have dishonoured my name and my family. Kill me, it would be a mercy."

"Didn't I just say I wasn't going to? The Ring has been tempting you for a long time, and you are not the first or the last person to fall prey to its temptations. Dry your eyes and come with me. By the sounds of things, there is a battle, and battle redeems all." Harry said, releasing Boromir, who promptly cuffed his eyes and clasped Harry's arm.

"No matter what you may think Boromir, fighting with you has been an honour," Harry said, attaching his wand to the sword of Gryffindor and gravely saluting him with it.

"And you'll be needing this," Harry said, handing him his shield

"The honour is all mine." Boromir said, smiling as he strapped on the shield.

Harry grinned savagely. "Let's go kill some orcs."

Merry and Pippin had been distracting the Uruk-Hai, wearing crude plate armour with the sign of the white hand upon it, but had only been able to run so far. They drew their swords as an enormous axe wielding Uruk bore down on them. As it drew closer, its head suddenly fell off, removed by an unnatural invisible blade. The Hobbits turned, looking towards their saviours who had arrived in the nick of time.

Harry and Boromir jumped into the fray with a shared roar, and the two began cutting down Uruk's left, right and centre, Harry firing a selection of spells down the blade of his sword, which flashed defiantly in the sunlight. But no matter how many were cut down, and many were, there were still too many. Harry cleared space for himself with a quick series of _depulso_'s and _impedimenta',_ then used his left hand to grab the Horn of Gondor from Boromir's belt and blow on it sharply and inexpertly three times. A few moments later he did so again, then shoved it through his belt and continued fighting ferociously, gutting three Uruk's in quick succession, tripping another and leaving it for the Hobbit's to dispatch.

"Just getting some reinforcements!" He called to Boromir over the roar of battle.

"Sounds good to me!" The Gondorian said, attacking with a new ferocity. It was at that moment he was hit in the chest by an arrow, and staggered.

Harry looked on in shocked silence for a moment, and then went cold. He whipped his wand-sword in a semi-circle, using the same thin beam of light that cut through orcs so well in Moria. He noted coolly that the Sword of Gryffindor seemed to make the fire rather hotter. Space cleared, he pointed his sword at the leading Uruk, who was also the designated archer. He had another arrow drawn and loosed. Harry deflected it with an absent minded _protego,_ and glared at the creature, which snarled in frustration.

"Shoot this, you evil son of a bitch: _Avada Kedavra_." Harry said coldly. The legendary beam of cold green light flew from his wand, down the sword and straight into the chest of the Uruk. He collapsed without a word or hesitation, dropping his bow. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, who had just arrived and watched the lethal green light kill the Uruk leader in the space of a heartbeat. Aragorn winced. Harry had mentioned something about a green light that instantly killed, and it had not been connected to anything good.

"Elendil!" Aragorn bellowed, whirling Andúril, which flashed in the sun.

"Baruk Khazad, Khazad Ai-Menu!" Gimli added, while Legolas called his own war cry.

"Eryn Lasgalen!"

"You lot are late! Ow! Fuck that hurt, you bastard!" Harry said with a grin, then beheaded the Uruk to whom the second part of the sentence was directed, who had caught him off-guard while he was trying to cover Boromir's flank as well as himself, and deep into his right arm. Harry had switched to his left, with which he was doing reasonably well.

"You know how it is, you kill one Orc and you have to fight another and another, and then you are late for everything thereafter," Legolas said lightly, firing arrows at the remaining Uruk's. Gimli and Aragorn killed all those that continued to charge.

Then Harry stumbled, barely deflecting a clumsy slash, and cried out as only his armour saved him from being gutted, deflecting the blow to his right leg. He hit the ground with a thump, then yelled as the Uruk's surged past him, and the wounded Boromir, taking Merry and Pippin, and stepping on his wounded arm and leg in the process. Legolas managed to deter any orcs trying to kill Harry as he lay helpless, but they were powerless to stop the Uruk's escaping with the Hobbits.

With a quick look after the now retreating Uruk's, any that might have stayed put off by the way the deadly threesome had cut through their numbers, Aragorn ran over to Harry, who was tapping his wounds with his wand, healing them slowly but visibly. He winced, looked up and said, "See to Boromir. I'll be fine."

"They've taken them, I've failed. I tried to take the Ring from Frodo, Aragorn, it broke me." Boromir said, in the short sharp manner of those in immense pain.

"Lie still Boromir. You have regained your honour." Aragorn said, and began to examine the wound. It was nasty, but if dealt with quickly, non-lethal. It hadn't hit his heart, thank Eru, but was still a little close for comfort. Harry, using his sword for a crutch, limped over, and without a word, summoned the arrow from Boromir's chest, then tapped it and muttered something.

"It should be fine, but it'll be a little weak for a while." Harry said, teeth gritted, then collapsed.

"Healing." He explained. "It really takes it out of you. We don't have time to rest, I've got some miruvor in my pack. I stole it when Elrond wasn't looking." With an immense effort he lifted himself up, and used Aragorn to support himself. Wearily he waved his wand at Boromir and levitated him.

"Hey!" Boromir said, still a little surprised he was alive.

"It's quicker this way, come on." Harry said. With a few false starts and some wincing, they made it to the camp. Harry summoned the ill-gotten Miruvor and took a deep drink, then handed it to Boromir, drank deeply. Harry noted that one of the boats was missing.

"Frodo and Sam have gone haven't they?" He said quietly.

Legolas grabbed one of the boats and pushed it out onto the water. "Come on we must follow them!"

"No. We have taken the Ringbearer as far as we can, much as it pains me to say it. If we followed them, the Ring would take us all one by one." Harry said dully.

"Then the quest has failed." Gimli said, sitting down heavily.

"No." Aragorn said softly. The rest turned to him. "We have two hobbits to recover."

"How will we catch the Orc's now?" Legolas said.

Harry smirked. "One of the advantages of being a wizard is that you learn to prepare for everything." And from out of his pack he summoned his shrunken Firebolt. He resized and kicked off with his stronger leg to stunned looks from the Fellowship.

"Another advantage is that we can fly." Harry remarked.

Aragorn smiled grimly. "Let's go hunt some Orc."

"Yes!" Gimli said, standing up.

Boromir and Legolas stood, as Harry shrunk his pack and pocketed it, extinguishing the fire.

"Let's get to work." He said, and the remains of the Fellowship followed their smallest members. The Fellowship was bowed, but not broken, not so long as ties of friendship existed between them.

**Blimey that was a long one! Okay, who wants me to continue following Frodo and Sam, who, save for some dialogue are going to be utterly unaffected by Harry's presence, and I would essentially be endlessly quoting the script, or just follow the 5 Hunters (Harry, Aragorn, Legolas, Boromir and Gimli)?**

**Please click the not so little button below and tell me what you think.**


	17. Chapter 17: Rohan Running

**A/N: Over 20 reviews! I love you guys!**

**And it's decided: The story is now following the 5 Hunters, with maybe a few Frodo & Sam sections in other chapters. **

Harry soared over the plains of Rohan, laughing joyously, the pain in his arm and leg rapidly receding. He had missed flying so much, he thought as the wind rushed past his ears. He looped the loop, barrel rolled and pulled off an amazing number of aerobatics. Spotting the running Fellowship below, he swooped down until he was level with Aragorn and Legolas, keeping pace easily.

"Turn right and follow me! The Uruks have changed direction and speeded up." Harry barked, then peeled away, following his wand which was pointing dead ahead due to a point me charm. Aragorn stopped to confirm by listening to the rock, adding that they had caught their scent.

"Hurry!" He called sharply, and Gimli stopped for breath.

Legolas turned and seeing the two slower runners said, "Come on Boromir, Gimli!" And then ran on with infuriating ease.

"3 days and nights of running, with no food, no rest or sign of our quarry but what bare rock and flying wizard can tell," The Dwarf muttered, resting on his axe, gaining only a sympathetic look from Boromir.

Without any further words, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir followed him, the latter two somewhat further behind due to lack of height and armour and injury respectively. Harry flew up high once more. Something was blocking him from just swooping and taking the Hobbits back, not just the inherent risks since they appeared to be tied to the backs of two large orcs, but a malevolent power that protected them and urged them on. Three guesses as to the source of the malevolent power, and the first two don't count.

When Boromir had suggested he swoop in and rescue them, he sworn a blue streak for not thinking of it himself, and flown towards the Orcs as first as the Firebolt could fly, and nearly fallen off his broom when he had hit an invisible barrier about 100 yards from the nearest giant orc. After trying to get in from all angles, even from the front with his invisibility cloak where he felt the unpleasant sensation of being pushed along by the invisible barrier. He managed to attach a note to some of the lembas, break it in two and carefully levitate it, with many false starts into Merry and Pippin's rather surprised mouths.

The note read simply: _We are coming. I'm alive, so is Boromir. Frodo and Sam left, currently safe. Something is preventing me from getting you immediately, but we will come for you. Harry._

Regretfully he had flown back and explained. The idea of Harry ferrying the Fellowship over was vetoed after Harry took Gimli for a test flight and the dwarf's stomach had objected strenuously to such treatment. Legolas had not managed, with all his reflexes, to avoid being hit by the ensuing mess from above, causing Harry to roar with laughter and nearly fall off his broom, and Boromir and Aragorn, both in range of the homicidal looking elf covered their laughter with unconvincing coughs. Gimli had been too ill to do anything but belch slightly, until Harry, weeping with laughter put him down and used a cleaning charm on Legolas, who ran on ahead, throwing Harry a thoroughly dirty look as he ran past the hovering wizard who was still struggling to get over his amusement.

After that, Harry had flown along beside the Fellowship for the most part, using a point me spell to keep on track and occasionally fly up to check the upcoming, and usually very rocky and uneven, terrain, minimising the strain on his wounds and the likelihood of him being spotted.

**Merry and Pippin**

Pippin had not been having all that good a last few days. He had spent most of it strapped to a giant orc, alternately worrying about Merry, who seemed woozy at best, and trying to block out the horrendous smell. He had therefore been very surprised to have a packet of lembas with a note attached jammed into his open mouth. With difficulty he managed to read the note to Merry and eat the lembas.

"They're coming Merry! They're coming for us." Pippin had whispered, elated.

"Wonderful Pip." Merry said, still slightly out of it.

Pippin thought furiously. This proved that Harry could find them, but he'd been wounded in the battle, so who knew what ills could befall him? He made up his mind. He would leave a sign. With some effort he managed to detach his Lorien brooch and spit it to the ground, where it was promptly trampled into the mud.

At last, the Hobbit thought jubilantly. At last there was hope again.

**Fellowship**

In his heart Aragorn was worried, despite the fact he put on a façade of grim competence and determination. Harry had reported that the Hobbits were well, and due to a piece of impressive ingenuity, fed and given hope. But he worried that the Fellowship would not arrive in time. The Uruks of the White Hand were running even faster than before. Aragorn and Legolas could catch them eventually, and Harry could easily outrun him on that strange and terrifyingly fast flying broomstick of his, but Saruman seemed to have planned for that, preventing him getting near enough to rescue the hobbits.

Then up ahead he saw something small and green embedded in the dirt catch the light. He bent down and picked it up. One of the brooches given by the Lady Galadriel to hold up the cloaks.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall." He said quietly. Legolas who had been running past, doubled back.

"They could still be alive." Legolas said breathlessly then turned, beckoning. Right on cue Gimli fell down a small hill, eliciting a wince of sympathy from Harry and Boromir, who was making a more stately descent.

"Come on Gimli, Boromir, we are gaining on them!" He called, then ran to catch up with Aragorn.

"I'm wasted on crosscountry! We dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances!" Gimli replied, getting up and running after them.

"Maybe one day Gimli, you and Legolas can have a race, and the rest of us can take bets." Boromir said dryly.

As they crested the ridge, Aragorn and Legolas stopped, Harry hovering beside them, while Boromir and Gimli caught up. Below were rolling hills and flat plains. Prime cavalry country.

"Rohan. Home of the Horselords. There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets it will against us."

"Something is rotten in the state of Rohan." Harry agreed grimly, flying on as the rest of the Fellowship made a quick descent.

Legolas had got to a vantage point and looked out. Aragorn called to him, "Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?"

"The Uruks have turned North-East. They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!" Legolas said, scanning the plain.

"Saruman." Aragorn whispered.

"Elvish eyesight. It never ceases to amaze me," Harry muttered, thinking that if Legolas had become a played Quidditch, every other Seeker would be out of the job very quickly.

**Rohan **

Eowyn raced into Meduseld. She had just heard the news: the enemy forces had been destroyed at the Fords of Isen, but Prince Theodred was gravely injured. She made a brief stop at her chambers, collecting a valuable bottle, before seeking out where the Prince was being kept.

As she entered the darkened chamber where Theodred was resting, Eomer looked up, face a mask of anger, a mask that dropped when he saw it was her.

"How is he?" She asked. Eomer merely motioned to a bandaged wound. She lifted the bandages then closed her eyes. The wound looked terrible.

"It is only thanks to one of our prisoners that he is still alive. A half Dunlending boy, called Emrys. Theodred captured him, and then for some reason he chose to save Theodred's life."

"Where is he now?" Eowyn asked, puzzled.

"In my chambers. He too is wounded, but it is a minor wound, despite the poison. He is our main source of information and I feel he wants to help us. For those reasons I'm keeping him away from Wormtongue. You must not breathe a word of this to anyone sister. Not to anyone at all." Eomer said, grasping her arm for emphasis.

Eowyn blinked then nodded. She would keep the secret. She then lifted the bottle she had collected from her chambers, and uncorked it carefully.

Eomer's brow furrowed, but he did not move to stop her. "What is that?"

"A cordial Harry gave me last year. He said that it was made by Elrond of Rivendell himself, and it was to be saved for the darkest hour. I think this qualifies." Eowyn said briskly, gently pouring much of it down Theodred's throat.

Eomer raised his eyebrows. Lord Elrond's skill as a healer was renowned throughout Arda, and if anything could help Theodred, it would be this. But now they had to tell their Uncle that his son was quite possibly on his deathbed.

"Your son is badly wounded, my lord." Eowyn said softly. This failed to raise so much as a murmur from Théoden, who appeared to be a more like a carven caricature with cataract covered eyes than a man, as he sat on his throne.

"He was ambushed by orcs. The force we faced had support that scouts from Councillor Wormtongue's men failed to tell us about. They all died in the battle." Again, no movement from Théoden. Eowyn reflected that Harry would probably have blasted the King with a stream of water by now, to see if he was still actually alive. She concealed a smile at the mental image of Harry curiously examining Theoden, then drawing his wand and blasting him with water, critically scrutinising the results. Her brother had meanwhile continued his speech. "If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

Theoden did not respond to this, but Wormtongue, creeping from out of the shadows like a slug from under a rock. "That is a lie. Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally," Wormtongue said in a slimily assertive voice. Then he bent down to listen to the King, who had leant over to him and mumbled something.

"Orc's are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will. Orc's bearing the White Hand of Saruman." Eomer said, emotion full in his voice, as he dropped an Orc helmet with said white hand upon it.

Grima stood and looked down at it, calculating his next move, then at Eowyn, who met his gaze. Then he leaned down by the King again.

"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind? Can you not see that your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering?" He said, greasy voice full of false concern and malice.

"Warmongering?" Eomer said quietly, fury in his voice. He moved in a blur and a jingle of armour, slamming Grima against one of the wooden columns, and glared into the treacherous advisers watery blue eyes.

"How long has it been since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price Grima? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?" Eomer said, mockingly using Wormtongue's first name, anger permeating his tone. Grima said nothing but his darting eyes betrayed his target. Eomer followed his gaze, and saw it lead to Eowyn, who looked briefly at the two of them before she left the hall. Grima's eyes showed his longing and lust. Eomer, even more wrathful, thrust him against the column again, grasping Grima's jaw.

"Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps." Eomer whispered harshly. Grima flicked his eyes left and right, then back to Eomer, triumph in them now. Two men stepped up and grasped Eomer by the shoulders, pulling him off Grima.

"You see much, Eomer son of Eomund, too much." Grima said, stepping away from the carved wooden column and stepping forward. More men grabbed Eomer, hitting him in the stomach and eliciting an involuntary cry from him. "You are banished forthwith from the Kingdom of Rohan and all its domains. Under pain of death." Grima pronounced harshly as Eomer struggled and yelled.

"You have no authority here, your orders mean nothing!" Eomer snarled, still struggling, then made another yell as he was hit in the stomach.

"The order does not come from _me_," Wormtongue said, savouring the moment, "It comes from the King." He held up an official looking piece of paper with the royal seal and a parody of a signature, a scrawl that any child could forge upon it. "Signed this morning." He finished. Eomer looked as if he had passed into despair as he was dragged out of the hall. Wormtongue's domination was complete. All he needed to do now was to ensure the death of Theodred, then Rohan was for the taking. He fingered a bottle of poison from Saruman's store cupboard. The Prince was dying anyway, but it would not hurt to help things along.

**Fellowship**

The Uruk's ran on, the Fellowship gaining slowly as they followed implacably behind.

"Keep breathing, that's the key. Breathe." Gimli muttered, wheezing slightly.

"Breathe in, breathe out…" Boromir wheezed more significantly, showing signs of stumbling as the pain in his chest increased, then yelped as Harry took advantage of a momentary dip to swing him on the back of the broom.

As he began to sputter protests, Harry cut him off. "You're pale as the full moon and wheezing, as well having cheated death only a few days ago, having run without ceasing ever since. You need a rest before you collapse."

Boromir opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. The pragmatic commander in him said that Harry was right, and furthermore, he would be worse than useless if he collapsed mid run. The impetuous warrior in him chafed at this, saying rest was for weaklings. The pragmatic commander won out, and he placed his arms sulkily around Harry's waist at the wizard's curt order.

"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them," Legolas observed incredulously.

"For all we know, that's true. No telling with Saruman." Harry said conversationally. The Fellowship ran on, as darkness fell, across hill and plain, never slowing, never flagging. Boromir eventually persuaded Harry to let him off, albeit somewhat reluctantly, around dusk, pointing out that he was much recovered from the rest.

**Merry & Pippin**

The Uruk's had stopped at the edge of a forest, throwing down the hobbits like stones.

One Uruk complained loudly, "I ain't running no further till we've had a breather!"

The chief Uruk looked around, then roared, "Get a fire going." Various Uruk's peeled off, hunting for wood to burn.

Pippin shuffled over to Merry, hands still bound. "Merry!"

"I think… we might have made a mistake leaving the Shire, Pippin." Merry said, smiling weakly the wound he had taken in his capture having formed a large scab.

The Uruk's hacked at the trees, cutting off branches, and a loud moaning sound caused by wood moving in ways it was not meant came from within the forest.

"What's making that noise?" Pippin wondered, just a little frightened.

Merry shuffled up onto his elbows for a better look. "It's the trees," he said in wonder.

"What?" Pippin said, puzzled.

"You remember the Old Forest, on the borders of Buckland?" Merry said, his face animated with intensity.

"Folk used to say there was something in the woods that made the trees grow talk, and come alive!"

"Alive?" Pippin said, just as another, rather louder and angrier sounding, emanated from within the forest.

"Trees that could whisper, talk to each other, even move." Merry said, as if he was planning something.

The Uruk's had moved on to complaining about a lack of food. One thin, nasal and gangly orc looked over at the hobbits and licked its teeth.

"What about them? They're fresh."

"They are _not _for eating." The chief Uruk said harshly. Pippin decided this was Uruk he liked, or at least, hated less than the rest.

One Uruk lifted both Hobbits up, and an orc gnashed its teeth. "What about their legs? They don't need those. They look tasty." It said, advancing on them, before being body checked by the chief Uruk.

"Get back, scum!" It said, shoving the orc that had been about to take a chunk out of the Hobbits into its fellow orcs, which squared off against the Uruk's.

"The prisoners go to Saruman, alive and unspoiled." It snarled with an air of finality.

The Uruk and the Orc argued, the Uruk clearly thinking that the hobbits had the ring. Pippin pointed this out and Merry elbowed and told him to shut up. Meanwhile a particularly small orc was sneaking up behind them, and said, "Just a mouthful, just a bit off the flank."

It raised its knife and was summarily beheaded by the Uruk chief. "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" It roared, and with primal bellows the Uruks and Orcs fought to be the first to cannibalize their fallen fellow, the hobbits temporarily forgotten. Entrails and other unspeakable things flew up into the air as the unfortunate orc was devoured. The hobbits crawled away, but were intercepted by the Orc that had been so eager to eat them.

"Go on. Call for help. _Squeal._ No one's going to save you now." It said, raising the knife. Then, in an amazing piece of irony, it was hit in the back by a hurled spear.

Riders of Rohan exploded onto the scene, led by the recently exiled Eomer, shooting, spearing, stabbing and generally slaughtering the orcs and Uruks.

Pippin looked up to see a horse rearing above him and screamed.

**Fellowship**

They had run on through the night, Harry eyeing Boromir like an oversized mother hen would one of her more stubborn chicks. As the sun rose, a red dawn shone across the world.

"A red sun rises, blood has been spilled this night." Legolas said quietly.

None of the Fellowship replied, but they grimly ran and flew on, increasing their pace. Around mid-morning Harry noticed a collective blur coming towards them on horseback. He flew down and dismounted from his broom stretching out his now mostly healed leg.

"Rohirric cavalry, coming this way." He said, causing the rest of the Fellowship to jump behind a large rock, trusting in their Lothlorien cloaks to conceal them.

As the riders thundered past, Aragorn stepped out from behind the rock and said, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

Harry opted for a _Sonorus_ spell, and bellowed, recognising some of the riders, "EOMER! OVER HERE YOU DOZY BASTARD!"

The riders turned in perfect synchrony, and then split, surrounding the Fellowship in a ring of spears.

"Well that's not very nice is it?" Harry said, having cancelled the spell, exasperatedly glaring at a spear near his nose. He glared up at its owner and said, "You might want to move that before it starts a new life as a rabbit." To his credit, the horseman barely twitched.

"What business does an elf, three men and a dwarf have in the Riddermark." The leader said.

"Morning Eomer. Make that two men and a wizard." Harry said casually.

"Hello, Harry. I thought that was you. No one else has your unusual taste in diplomacy." Eomer said dryly.

"The magically enhanced voice wasn't a clue at all then." Harry replied, deadpan, then turned to the Fellowship. "May I introduce, Gimli son of Gloin, Legolas Thranduilion, Boromir son of Denethor who I'm frankly surprised you haven't recognised yet and-"

"My name is Aragorn." Aragorn said, cutting off Harry and giving him a meaningful look. Clearly Aragorn wished to introduce himself from now on.

"-and that is Aragorn. My friends, this Eomer, 3rd marshal of Rohan, Prince of the Mark and eligible bachelor extraordinaire." Harry said, giving Aragorn a funny look.

"I take it you two know one another well. Harry is only this impudent with people he has the advantage of a long acquaintance with." Legolas said.

"He is at that." Eomer muttered as he dismounted, then cleared his throat. "What is your business in the Riddermark?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Boromir clamped a hand over it. "Now is not the time for smart comments. Let Aragorn handle this," the Gondorian said sharply. Eomer concealed a smile at Harry's outraged and shocked expression.

"Your wisdom is even greater than I thought, son of Denethor." Eomer said amusedly. "But I must repeat my question."

"We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden your king." Aragorn said.

"Theoden no longer recognises friend from foe. Not even his own kin." Eomer said heavily, removing his ornate helmet, something the Rohirrim took as a signal to lift their spears. Harry, who had been noticeably sulking, looked up sharply at that. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. For that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. Everywhere his spies slip past our nets." Eomer said, pacing.

"If we see any, we'll be sure to tell you. I had suspected Saruman was meddling in Rohan, this has confirmed it." Harry said, rubbing his chest.

"We track a party of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends' captive.

"The Uruks were destroyed. We slaughtered them in the night." Harry's heart fell.

"There were hobbits, did you see two hobbits with them?" Gimli asked, frightened for his friends.

"They would have been small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn said quietly.

Eomer said nothing for a long moment, and looked down, then said, "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." He indicated a rising tower of smoke about 10 miles away.

"They're dead?" Gimli asked disbelievingly, voicing the thoughts on everyone's mind.

"I'm sorry." Eomer said sincerely, then whistled. "Hasufel, Arod, Eorl." Three horses trotted up. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters." Eomer nodded at them, bade them farewell, then mounted up once again.

"Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope, for it has forsaken these lands." Eomer said, then called to his eored, "We ride North!"

"Eomer! Do not go too far. Hope and loyalty may yet be rewarded." Harry called after him. Eomer raised his spear in acknowledgement as the horses moved off.

Harry mounted his broom and said curtly, "Catch me up. I'm going to have a look." With that he shot off, a black blur in the sky.

Harry landed by the large and evil smelling pile of burnt Uruk corpses and began to search. When the rest of the Fellowship arrived, Boromir and Aragorn on their own horses, Legolas and Gimli sharing, a site which at another time might have amused Harry, he was sitting down despondently and mutely raised a blackened charred belt in his left hand.

"It's one of their wee belts." Gimli whispered. Harry nodded. Legolas whispered a prayer in Sindarin, while Boromir collapsed, crying silently. He felt that he was to blame. Harry had been distracted protecting him and had got injured, allowing the Uruk's to get the hobbits. And now they were dead. Burned by night-blind Rohirrim in the middle of the night in an uncaring landscape, far from family and friends.

"NO!" Boromir bellowed, just as Aragorn lashed out a Uruk helmet and screamed his rage, kicking the thing, and fell to his knees.

"We failed." Gimli whispered.

"I've failed. Every time I tried to save someone, I failed. Even Boromir got shot." Harry said in a depressed monotone.

Aragorn was examining the ground. "A hobbit lay here."

Not much good now, is it? Harry thought angrily.

"And the other." Aragorn continued, with the air of a coroner tracking someone's last movements.

"They crawled. Their hands were bound."

Aragorn picked up a neatly cut piece of rope and said puzzled, "their bonds were cut," he moved on, "they were followed."

He ran on, saying, "the tracks lead away from the battle!"

Harry smiled, hope growing within him once more.

"…into Fangorn Forest." Aragorn said, hope dropping out of his voice.

"From frying pan to fire." Harry said grimly.

"Fangorn… what madness drove them in there?" Gimli whispered.

"You mean _apart _from the ferocious battle and certain death behind them?"

**A/N: I figured that was a good place to cut it off. Please read and review.**


	18. Chapter 18: The Turn of the Tide

**A/N: Still going. The final chapter before Edoras, and I think it's a pretty good one if mostly a set up chapter, in which there is magic, mayhem and sarcasm.**

The horses had been tied up, having refused to enter the Forest, and the Fellowship had entered the forest with some trepidation. Harry was beginning to see why everyone else disliked Fangorn Forest, save Legolas, who appeared to be in his element, looking around in wonderment. The trees creaked and groaned, and generally gave off a vibe of being thoroughly pissed off. Honestly, it was like being surrounded by thousands of the whomping willow, any of which could kill him at any given moment. He shivered. Not a pleasant thing to know.

Gimli had walked over to some leaves with a black substance upon them and tasted some of it. He spat it out and said, grimacing, "Orc blood."

Harry was too nervous to make a smart remark, and merely said, "Really? Interesting."

Aragorn was leaping from one half hidden sign or track to another. Stopping at one, he frowned and said, "These tracks are strange."

"The air is so close in here." Gimli said, thoroughly intimidated.

"That would be because of the trees." Harry muttered. The main reasons he had refrained from using a point me spell was that 1) Saruman was probably wandering around, and he didn't want to attract attention, 2) something in the air was playing havoc with his spells and 3) it would only give a straight line direction, not helpful in a forest.

"This forest is old. Very old. Full of memory." Legolas said, as if communicating with the trees, and said slightly worriedly, "and anger." The trees began creaking even more loudly, and Gimli lifted his large axe, hefting it nervously.

"The trees are speaking to each other." Legolas said.

"Gimli, I think they don't like your axe. Please, for my peace of mind at least, lower it." Harry said, watching the trees around him cautiously.

"Gimli! Lower your axe." Aragorn added for emphasis. The dwarf lowered his axe and raised both hands in the multiversal gesture of surrender.

"They have feelings my friend," Legolas said with a slight smile. "The elves began it, waking up the trees, teaching them to speak…"

"Talking trees. What do trees have to talk about? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings." Gimli grumbled. Harry and Boromir sniggered quietly.

They moved deeper into the forest, then Legolas said something in Sindarin to Aragorn, stepping onto a small protruding rock. Aragorn replied, asking him something, then Legolas answered in Westron for the benefit of the whole company.

"The White Wizard approaches."

"Do not let him speak, he will put a spell on us." Aragorn whispered, not moving. Each member of the Fellowship slowly reached for their weapons. Aragorn and Boromir reached for their swords, Gimli his axe, Legolas an arrow, and Harry his wand, loosening the Sword of Gryffindor in its sheath.

"We must be quick." Aragorn whispered, took a deep breath, and turned whilst drawing his sword with a challenging yell. Gimli hurled a throwing axe with a cry, and Legolas threw an arrow at the blazing white figure, shrouded in incandescent white light. The axe was deflected and the arrow shattered against the White Wizard's shields. Harry fired a stunner which bounced off with a clang, then his wand was ripped out of his hand and thrown to one side. He drew his sword, but like Aragorn and Boromir's, it heated to red heat, though took a few moments longer, forcing all three to drop their swords.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits." Spoke a rich, deep and somehow distorted voice.

"Where are they?" Aragorn demanded, shading his eyes from the glare.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday," the White Wizard replied, apparently unconcerned.

"They met someone, they did not expect," he continued, a more ominous choice of words. Harry waited. He would pick his moment, then apparate to the White Wizard and fight him hand to hand.

"Does that comfort you?" The Wizard asked, apparently slightly concerned, unusual for one such as Saruman.

Aragorn having picked up on this, demanded, "Who are you? Show yourself!"

The light dimmed, revealing… Gandalf. Dressed in thick white robes that could have been an advert for one of the detergents Aunt Petunia used to watch, and carrying a smoothly carved white wooden staff.

"It cannot be." Aragorn whispered, dumbfounded.

"Forgive me, I mistook you for Saruman," Legolas said, going down on one knee, Gimli following suit, Boromir doing the same. Harry bowed slightly, hand over heart.

"I am Saruman," said Gandalf, "or rather, Saruman as he should have been."

"You fell." Aragorn said, still shocked.

"I saw. You fell and I failed to save you." Harry said quietly.

"Through fire, and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought him, the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountaintop." Gandalf replied, a certain grim satisfaction in his voice.

"Darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled around me, and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I have been sent back, until my task is done at the will of Eru."

"Gandalf." Aragorn said, stepping forward. Gandalf looked puzzled, as if searching for a memory.

"Gandalf? Yes, that's what they used to call me. Gandalf the Grey, that was my name."

"Eru help us, he's back, he's incredibly powerful, and he's gone senile." Harry muttered under his breath, looking around for his wand.

"Gandalf." Gimli said, eyes beetling like Hagrid's, and a smile creasing his face.

"Gandalf." Boromir said in wonder, then wincing at his wound.

"I am Gandalf the White. And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide. And I am not senile, _Moristar_, though I would ask you to try being resurrected and retaining your full faculties."

"I have. It was rather easy. Of course, some of us didn't bother with the dye job. Now could you tell me where you've hidden my bloody wand?" Harry said grumpily.

Gandalf merely smiled, and drew Harry's wand from the depths of his robes. Harry accepted it with an amused eyeroll. Then he smiled, saying sincerely, "It is good to see you again old friend."

"As it is to see you. To see you all." Gandalf said warmly, then began to walk on.

"One stage of your journey is over. Another begins. We must make for Edoras with all speed." He said, now covering his white robes with a grey cloak and walking briskly in some predetermined direction.

"Edoras? That is no short distance." Gimli said, puzzled.

"A day on horseback at least." Harry confirmed, having perked up at the mention of Edoras.

"We hear of trouble in Rohan. Something is ill with the King." Aragorn said quietly to Gandalf.

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured." Gandalf said grimly.

"Then we have run all this way for nothing! We are going to leave these poor hobbits here in this horrid, dank, dark, _tree infested_…" Gimli said, beginning a rant that was swiftly cut off by a warning groan from the trees.

"Um, ah, I mean, charming, quite charming, forest." Gimli said hastily. Harry shared a grin with Boromir.

"The run did at least prove one thing: dwarves are useless at long distance running." Harry teased.

"Says the wizard who flew all the way." Gimli replied. Before the two could start a good natured argument, Gandalf interrupted.

"It was not mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power is waking that has slept for many ages." Gandalf said knowingly. Legolas began to look wonderingly around the forest.

"Yes, the coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the small stones that start an avalanche in the mountains." Gandalf said.

"In one thing you have not changed dear friend." Aragorn said conspiratorially, then whispered.

"You still speak in riddles," and the two shared a laugh.

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder days." Gandalf said, building up an air of mystery.

"A hobbit is about to shave their foot hair?" Harry enquired innocently, ruining the air of mystery.

"Your ever present and often inappropriate wit is one thing that hasn't changed about you Harry." Gandalf said with an exasperated smile.

"The Ents are going to wake up. And find that they are strong." Gandalf said, slightly ominously.

"Strong?" Gimli blurted out as the forest creaked around them. "Oh, that's good."

"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf." Gandalf said sternly, and turned to exit the forest. "Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact they are far safer than you are about to be." The wizard added breezily.

"This new Gandalf's more grumpy than the old one." Gimli mumbled into his beard.

"Back from the dead, twice as powerful, twice as grumpy." Boromir muttered to Harry and Gimli, who concealed snorts with difficulty.

As they left the forest, Gandalf started an impossibly long whistle. Soon afterwards, a loud neigh was to be heard and an absolutely beautiful and powerful looking white horse galloping towards them, their own horses in hot pursuit.

"That is one of the _Mearas_, unless my eyes are cheated by some spell." Legolas said, awestruck.

"Your eyes are not deceived Legolas. Shadowfax, lord of all horses, and has been my friend through many dangers." Gandalf said, stroking the horse's nose gently.

Harry had been puzzling something out. "This is the horse Théoden was so angry you'd taken?"

"Indeed Harry, this is he. But he did say I could take any horse in the stable." Gandalf said with a wink. "Even if he didn't mean it."

Harry looked at Shadowfax. "That is most definitely not an ordinary horse." Shadowfax eyeballed him. "My point proven." Harry said, edging away from the unblinking stare.

The Fellowship mounted up, Gimli rather reluctantly, and Gandalf blinked. "Where is your horse Harry?"

Harry grinned. He'd been wanting to show off like this. He resized his broom, mounted it, and kicked off, his formerly wounded leg holding up. He shot off into the blue with a wild whoop.

Gandalf sat on Shadowfax and shook his head. "That boy is always going to be wild."

"At least he's wild and happy. When Haldir angered him, Harry nearly killed him, and when he failed to save you, his grief destroyed the eastern gate of Moria." Aragorn said.

"Ah yes, I heard about that. Galadriel told me when I was readjusting to living. She also told me that it is not just the turn of the tide in the war, but the turn of the tide for Master Potter as well." Gandalf said with a cryptic smile.

"Would there be any point in asking you what that means?" Boromir asked sarcastically.

"No, none at all." Gandalf said as Harry came in to land alongside them, eyes sparkling with joy. "Most impressive Harry, though I would counsel caution. If Saruman catches you unawares at that speed, you are as good as dead."

"Maybe I'll get resurrected: two dead wizards for the price of one." Harry replied flippantly. Gandalf gave him a hard look.

"I know Gandalf. My task is not an easy one, a fact I am well aware of." Harry said, tone darkening.

Gandalf nodded. "And you remember that, you impudent nuisance." He said in a half affectionate tone. Harry raised his eyebrows in reply. "Now we have dallied enough. On to Edoras!"

They galloped across the plains of Rohan for the whole day, stopping only as night fell. The darkness was complete, the sky a deep purple, except for where it was touched by orange by the fires of Mordor.

"A veiling shadow and cloud in the east takes shape. Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-Dur he watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him, rumour has reached him: The heir of Numenor still lives. Sauron fears you Aragorn, he fears what you may become." Aragorn turned his head away at this. "So he will strike hard and fast at the world of men. He will use his puppet Saruman to destroy Rohan, war is coming and Rohan must defend itself. Therein lies our first challenge for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. The King's mind is enslaved, an old device of Saruman's, his hold of King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose. But for all their cunning, we have one advantage. The Ring remains hidden. And that we should seek to destroy has not yet entered their darkest dreams." Gandalf said, quite pleased with himself. "And so the weapon of the enemy everyday moves closer to Mordor in the hands of a Hobbit. Towards the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo, everything depends and speed and upon the secrecy of his quest. Do not regret your decision to leave him, Frodo must finish this task alone."

"He's not alone. Sam went with him." Aragorn said.

"I told him that in Lothlorien. I hope that knowledge now allows him to hold his nerve." Harry said quietly.

"Did he? Did he indeed. Very good. Yes, very good." Gandalf said, smiling, as if some piece of the puzzle was falling into place. "And you should be asleep young wizard."

"I couldn't sleep. Nightmares about both this world and my own being enslaved by the forces of darkness rather ruin the appeal of rest." Harry said sourly.

"Ah, your vision in the Mirror of Galadriel I assume. Yes, I was told about that." Gandalf said.

"I feel helpless, Gandalf. I don't feel as if I can help Frodo and Sam. And every time I have faced Saruman in battle, I have had my arse handed to me. And despite all that I'm expected to save two worlds, or at least help. Last time it was at least only one bloody country! I not sure what I'm meant to do, much less how to do it." Harry replied angrily. Aragorn felt himself empathising with Harry somewhat, but while his path was clearer, he lacked Harry's formidable magical powers. The road ahead was a hard one to walk, for all of them.

"Your path shall reveal itself in time Master Potter, just you wait." Gandalf said placidly.

"I've been waiting for four years. What difference do another few months make?" Harry said sarcastically, going back to sleep by the fire.

Aragorn and Gandalf stood for a while watching the horizon.

"I am of the opinion that Harry is the most dangerous creature in Middle Earth." Gandalf said quietly.

"He is powerful, for sure, but surely he is not more powerful than Sauron, Saruman, yourself and Galadriel?" Aragorn said, looking at Gandalf in puzzlement.

"He isn't yet. That isn't to say he won't be some day, and for now I suspect that sword has been sent to make up some of the difference." Gandalf conceded.

"It looks to be an ordinary sword to my eyes." Aragorn said dubiously.

"To mine it thrums with untapped power. It is old Aragorn, and forged by cunning creatures, wielded by a powerful wizard… Oh yes, it is very powerful. I believe it is only to be wielded by the worthy, and those who wield it are capable of great and terrible things." Gandalf said. "Now to bed. We have a long ride ahead of us, and many miles to cover before we can truly rest."

**Rohan **

Eowyn kept vigil over her cousin. Grima had forbidden that any tend to him, but she still kept watch over him.

"Oh, he must have died sometime in the night. What a tragedy for the King to lose his only son and heir," Grima said, entering the room, voice full of false concern. At that moment, Theodred groaned slightly. Grima's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Eowyn concealed a half smile. His grip over Rohan may be nearly complete, but he was not unassailable.

"Have you tended to him?" He asked sharply.

"No, snake, and I wonder why you should think him dead or prevent treatment on him. It is almost as if you want him to die." Eowyn replied just as sharply.

"You malign me my lady, but your words have aroused a thought in my mind. I shall have him taken for treatment now by the best physicians I can find." Grima said greasily.

Eowyn looked at him uneasily, as he moved closer, and reached out to touch her face, saying softly, "So fair, but so cold. Like a cold spring morning still clinging to winter…"

Eowyn seemed almost hypnotised, and for long moment she didn't move, then stood back and said, tears and anger in her voice, "Your words are poison." Then she left with all haste.

Grima looked after her, then beckoned a guard in his pay. "Prince Theodred needs to be taken to new quarters in the dungeons. Chain him up, to prevent him from hurting himself of course."

What he did not know was that his careful manipulations and power plays, as intricate and sticky as a spiders web, were about to burn to dust. For the White Wizard and the Fellowship of the Ring were coming 'ere the next midday, and the tides of fortune were turning.

**Rivendell**

Elrond surveyed the three young witches and wizards. The seemed curious, sharper, more aware and honed to battle fitness by the training they had received. Their visit had been as good for Rivendell as it had been for them, particularly Arwen, as Ginny and Hermione had often been spotted chatting about everything and nothing to the Evenstar. Arwen had even laughed, a rare commodity in this most troubled of times.

"You are ready, and the time is right. The Lady Galadriel tells me that Harry is approaching Edoras, the capital of Rohan, and my sons have assembled 30 dunedain rangers to help the Fellowship on their quest. They desire that you go with them. Do you wish to do so?"

"Yes!" All three replied at the exact same time.

"I take it you all know how to ride a horse?" Ron and Ginny looked puzzled while Hermione nodded.

Catching their expressions, she explained for their benefit. "Riding a horse isn't much different from riding a broom, and it's much easier. No flying involved."

While Elrond was puzzled by the idea of flying brooms, something he recalled Harry having mentioned on one occasion, the explanation made sense to the two purebloods, though Ron looked decidedly worried.

"You leave at first light tomorrow, so I suggest you start packing. Hermione, a bucket of water will be provided in case you need to wake your husband up." Elrond said, allowing a small smile to creep across his face. Ron blanched while Hermione grinned.

"Thank you, Lord Elrond." She said. The trio left with a perfunctory collective bow, and began debating what to take. Elrond sighed and massaged his temples briefly. He just hoped to Eru that he wasn't unleashing three more versions of Harry on Arda. One was more than enough, for though they seemed sensible, but battle did odd things to the mind.

**Enjoy? Please Review!**


	19. Chapter 19: To Edoras!

**A/N: I own nothing save the plot, and particularly not this version of Eonwe, as written by Shemyaza1, who makes a brief cameo in his capacity of Oathkeeper of Illuvatar, and will be returned immediately, hopefully with no damage incurred and no real effect on the plot. **

**Reply to Rinn: Aragorn has, Legolas probably has and in this fic Harry has gone to Lothlorien before. **

Harry looked around Edoras, and was saddened by what he saw. Once this hilltop city had been full of cheer and laughter. As Gimli muttered, "You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," Harry found himself inwardly agreeing with him.

"The war has been hardest on them. They have no great walls to defend and Saruman's Uruk's and wildmen rampage through the hinterland with impunity. Theoden must be in a bad way." Harry said clearly concerned, and angered. "The Horse banner of Rohan would never have fallen and left to lie if he were at the height of his powers, or anywhere near to it."

"I fear you are right Harry. Saruman's poison runs deep here." Gandalf said grimly, holding his grey cloak around himself against the occasional gusts of wind. They rode up through the city, occasionally looking at the thoroughly defeated looking inhabitants, half of whom were on the verge of starvation and the other half looked as if they're clothes would fall apart if they even moved. Harry was uncomfortably aware of his own travel stained but strong and warm clothes. Once they had ridden Théoden of this foul curse, he would stay up all night casting repairing spells if he had to, he vowed. Out of the corner he saw the sudden appearance of a somewhat angelic figure who looked like he could turn ten recruits into an army was writing something in a notebook with a quill. The figure saw his glance, smiled brilliantly and nodded at him as between professionals, then disappeared as silently as he had appeared.

"That was Eonwe, herald of Manwe, commander of the armies of Valinor and Oathkeeper of Iluvatar. He is an old friend of mine and my comrade in arms in the 1st age. He rarely puts in a personal visit, so I presume that he must like you. Or that the Valar wish for him to keep an eye on you." Gandalf muttered in his ear.

Harry barely restrained himself from leaping into mid-air. Gandalf had never previously been able to do that. Mind you, it could be his horse. There something distinctly odd about that animal, it seemed far too knowing to be an average equine. Maybe it was some sort of creepy elf horse, which would account for the silence.

And he was more than a bit puzzled as to why the Valar were particularly interested in him. Maybe there had been more to Gandalf's explanation for his presence at the Council in Rivendell than had previously been apparent. He dismissed it from his thoughts as they reached the steps of Meduseld, the golden palace of Rohan, which though he would never tell anyone, reminded him in its own strange way of the Burrow. He had more important things to deal with than worrying about the Valar and their interest in him.

Háma the doorman moved to intercept them as they sought to enter the hall. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of, Grima Wormtongue." The last part was said with a very slight tinge of bitterness in his voice.

Harry fingered the wand in his pocket as Gandalf handed his sword Glamdring to one of the guardsmen, with Boromir following suit. Legolas hesitated for a moment then passed over his bow and knives, instructing "Take good care of these, for they are gifts from the Lady of the Golden Wood."

The man looked frightened and handled them as if they were made of high explosives and said, "You have my word that no one will touch them whilst my men and I are here to guard them." Legolas bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Harry chuckled slightly, and handed over his much used elven knife, and the sword of Gryffindor. "These are also. Handle them with the utmost care or I will want to know why."

Gimli grumbled slightly, but handed over his axes. Aragorn was the only one still armed, though he had handed over his dagger readily enough, and drummed his fingers on Andúril's hilt and he made no move to take it off. "I am reluctant to give Andúril into the hands of any other man," he said.

"Yet it is King Théoden's wish," said Háma levelly.

"Although Théoden is King of Rohan and lord of the Mark, it is not clear to me that his wish should prevail over that of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elendil's heir," Aragorn replied stubbornly.

Harry raised his eyebrows. Aragorn had kept his heritage a closely guarded secret for the most part and he noticed that Boromir had twitched slightly, as he unconsciously did whenever Aragorn's heritage was mentioned. Though he had reconciled himself to Aragorn's right to the throne, a small part of him hadn't entirely accepted it. Probably the part most like his father, Harry mused.

"Hand over the sword Aragorn. Háma is a good man and if he swears it, no man shall touch your sword. You have my promise." Harry said calmly.

Aragorn half turned and glared at him slightly. Harry returned his glare, folding his arms, until Aragorn turned back and rested the sword against the wall of the palace and said, "Be warned, I will bring death to any man who draws the sword of Elendil other than Elendil's heir."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation at what he saw as Aragorn being unnecessarily melodramatic, and as he and Gandalf made to step through, Háma made to stop them again. "Your staff. And any magical objects you might have." He said firmly, directing the last at Harry.

"Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?" Gandalf said, acting as if he were old and feeble, while winking discreetly at Aragorn while Háma's back was turned. Harry and the rest of the Fellowship concealed smiles. They all knew what that 'stick' was capable of. Háma nodded his reluctant assent, and said, "Now you Lord Potter." Harry made a great show of fumbling in his pockets and pulled out a small rock he had picked up at the Falls of Rauros when it had got stuck in his boot.

With the utmost solemnity, he handed it to the dubious guard and said, "This is one of my most prized possessions, and a magical heirloom in my family."

"And your wand, my Lord."

"Wand?" Harry drew his wand, affecting surprise. "You mean this? It's just a good luck charm from home. I carry it everywhere. Surely you wouldn't deny a young man a small home comfort?" he said, acting as if he were rather younger than he in fact was.

Háma let them past, and as soon as they were past him, Legolas with his hand on Gandalf's arm, to give strength to the lie of his infirmity and feebleness, Boromir whispered in Harry's ear, "Good luck charm? You are the most brazen liar I have ever met Harry, including Gandalf."

"What can I say? It's a talent. And technically, it does bring me luck." Harry whispered back. Boromir snorted softly, and resumed scanning the room. There was a large group of dangerous looking individuals lurking in the dusty shadows, and Théoden sat on his throne, looking old, fragile and decrepit, while a greasy man, who reminded Harry distinctly of Snape if he had really let himself go in the hygiene department, but with none of the other man's courage, whispered in his ear. Harry skewered the man with his best glare, and wondered whether greasy clothing burned easily and if it would be morally reprehensible to set him on fire in the middle of talks. Gandalf had straightened up and now spoke in a ringing voice, "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King."

"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" wheezed the king, looking at the man beside him as he did so. "You speak justly, milord," said the greasy, pale man at the king's side. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Láthspell I name you, ill news is an ill guest." He said maliciously, certain of his victory, triumph written on his face. He spared Harry a brief glance, and looked faintly surprised, but the look on his face soon disappeared upon Gandalf's reply.

"Be silent. Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth;" said Gandalf harshly, "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." And with that he raised his staff, causing Grima to back away and first mutter, then yell, "His staff. I _told_ you to take the Wizard's staff!"

This acted as the signal for the dangerous men to attack with small daggers. Harry drew his wand and started firing off spells, the first a blasting curse at Grima, who went soaring backwards, and the rest of the Fellowship engaged the men in hand to hand combat, a maelstrom through which Gandalf strode unflinchingly, his eyes fixed on Théoden. Harry had spoken with Gandalf and agreed that Gandalf was to fight this battle, to affirm his status as the new White Wizard. And so, battle was joined.

Eowyn was walking through the halls of Meduseld, mulling over Wormtongue's words, when she heard the sounds of combat, grunts and clashes of steel against steel, and a very familiar voice roaring "Stupefy!"

And for the first time in a long time, she smiled, albeit a battle smile, a hawkish grimace that had adorned the faces of her ancestors, usually just before they were about to kill someone. The darkness over Rohan would surely soon be lifted, especially if she had a say in it, she thought as she grabbed a sword and moved to join the battle. If Wormtongue sought to kill her uncle, he would taste the steel of her sword.

Boromir fought carefully, to avoid unduly aggravating the injuries he had attained at the Falls of Rauros. Even so, with his size, strength and the best combat training in Gondor, along with a few tricks he had learned in tavern brawls, his opponents stood little chance. However as it became clear that he was the least combat capable of the Fellowship, none daring to go near either Gandalf or Harry, the former looking as immovable and formidable as Minas Tirith itself, the latter merrily firing off spells of questionable purpose (at least one man had been tied up and another was hanging by his ankle in mid-air) and randomly interspersing them with moves that he had to have learned in half the taverns of the North, he was being slowly surrounded.

Suddenly, he saw out of the corner of his eye a dagger descending on his back, attempting to send him to meet his forefathers. Before the blow could land however, the man was plucked from where he stood and slammed into one of the wooden pillars with bone jarring force.

As he dispatched his last opponents, all of whom were understandably distracted by their comrade's speedy collapse, he looked up and grinned his thanks at Harry, who saluted him with his wand, then caught punch to his jaw. Harry rolled with the blow, landing hard on the floor and then kicked upwards viciously with both feet at his assailant. The man promptly went white, made a strangled squeaking noise and collapsed. Boromir winced and made a mental note to always be on Harry's side in a bar fight. The not-quite-royal family jewels of Gondor were as vulnerable as any others to such tactics.

"Théoden, son of Thengel. Too long have you sat in the shadows." Théoden turned his head away from Gandalf, who suddenly snapped in stark contrast to his gentle tones previously, "Hearken to me!"

He extended his left hand which he clenched and then opened to a throb of power as he said softly with closed eyes, "I release you from this spell." No one moved and the room was silent. Even Grima, who Harry had hit with a leg locker curse and then a furnuculus curse out of pure spite, and currently had Gimli with one foot on his chest to prevent him from making an unobtrusive exit by pulling himself along on his arms, did not move or make a sound.

Then the silence was broken by cruel, mocking laughter from Théoden's body. "You have no power here, Gandalf the _Grey_, nor you, Black Wizard." Harry merely grinned a lupine grin, and Gandalf, his expression unreadable, threw off his grey cloak, white light emanating from deep within him flooded the room, eliciting a cry from Saruman, who was affected even though he was not directly present.

"I shall draw you Saruman as poison is drawn from a wound." Gandalf said grimly and he stabbed his staff forward in a gesture that forced Théoden's body back onto his throne. Eowyn entered the room at this point, without her sword upon hearing her uncle cry out in pain. She moved to stop Gandalf, but Aragorn intercepted her and said softly, "Wait." She looked across the room to Harry, who was looking at Gandalf in something approaching awe and he turned, saw her, then smiled and winked. She subsided, still anxious.

"If I go, Théoden dies." Saruman spat, in obvious difficulty.

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him." Gandalf said determinedly, as he thrust his staff forward once more, forcing him back.

"Rohan is mine!" Saruman hissed.

"Begone!" Gandalf cried, looking for all the world like a cross between a druid in full regalia, and a priest in the middle of a particularly tricky exorcism. Saruman chose that moment to lunge with Théoden's body, and Gandalf's staff emitted a piercing flash of light, and knocked Théoden back onto his throne, Saruman evidently banished.

Aragorn released Eowyn, who ran to her uncle, and caught him as he fell forward. Gandalf leaned on his staff, tired but evidently satisfied. And then the miracle happened. The long white straggly hair receded to be replaced by a thatch of dark blonde hair down to his jaw line and a warrior's short, greying beard. The wrinkles faded, to be replaced by a smooth face, with only a few care lines and his formally rheumy, clouded eyes cleared and held a look in their eye of someone waking up after a long sleep. He looked into Eowyn's eyes, confused and said, "I know your face…Eowyn. Eowyn." He repeated, and she smiled through the beginnings of tears of joy.

Harry stepped forward beside Gandalf after muttering the counter curses to the spells on Wormtongue, and muttered dryly, his voice tinged with awe, "Nice one. A change of clothes does wonders."

Gandalf smiled, but otherwise did not respond. At that moment Théoden looked up at them, and breathed, "Gandalf? Harry?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Gandalf said.

Harry quipped, "Look upon your kingdom once more. I hear it's very nice this time of year."

Théoden, who was flexing his hands and looking at them as if he had never seen them before, briefly looked at Harry and mock glared, saying with a touch of asperity, "I see your wit hasn't deserted you Master Potter."

Before Harry could reply with a further witticism, Gandalf suggested knowingly, "Maybe your fingers would better remember their old strength if they grasped you sword." The King's sword was brought forth, and he drew it slowly and admired it for a moment, then his face hardened as he looked down at the terrified Wormtongue.

A few moments later a couple of guardsmen threw the disgraced advisor down the steps of Meduseld, taking no little satisfaction in doing so as the townspeople gathered silently to watch this unexpected turn of events. Théoden followed, slightly unsteadily, his face a mask of pure rage.

"My Lord, do not send me from your sight, I have only ever sought to serve you." Grima whined, appealing to the King's good will. From what Harry could see that was non-existent at the moment.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a _beast_!" Théoden snarled, and raised his sword over his head to deliver the death blow to his treacherous former advisor, until Aragorn stopped his sword swing at its zenith and said, "No my Lord! Enough blood has been spilled on his account." Théoden reluctantly lowered his sword and Aragorn held out his hand, the one bearing the ring of Barahir, to help Grima up. Instead, Grima reared like a striking snake and spat directly on to the ring then turned and ran, as Aragorn shook his hand in disgust.

Once he was clear of the crowd of people who parted like the red sea as he came, a tongue of flame reached out over the heads of the crowd and hit Grima squarely in the back, setting his cloak alight, which he hurriedly discarded with a shrill scream. The company turned to Harry, who looked back at them smugly and blew on the tip of his wand, as if to clear a wisp of smoke.

"I was right. His clothes really do burn very easily." Harry said, clearly having satisfied some internal curiosity.

Aragorn sighed, and said long sufferingly, "Harry, I did not request that King Théoden spare him so you could set him on fire, however satisfying that may be."

"All it did was scare him a little, and warm him up." Harry said innocently, then added, "if only briefly. I was giving him comfort for his exile. Is it my fault that he chose to discard it so quickly?" Théoden snorted, recognising Harry's tone. If this ranger, apparently quite important, sought to bring him to heel, he might as well try lifting Isengard with his bare hands. It was rather more likely to move than Harry was to change his somewhat flippant ways.

As it was, Aragorn ignored him, and then looked down at the more than a little frightened and bemused townspeople, then called in ringing voice, "Hail Théoden King!" And as one they bowed to Théoden, who with his rage at Wormtongue dispersed just looked tired and confused, only giving Aragorn a cursory glance when he too knelt before him. Wormtongue himself rode away to tell Saruman of the ill news, and seek sanctuary. Théoden cared for none of this and only said slowly and quietly, "Where is Theodred? Where is my son?"

Harry frowned and looked around. He too had been surprised by Theodred's absence, and had been surprised that Eomer hadn't mentioned him, but dismissed it at the time, having to worry about the Hobbits. He then caught Eowyn's eye. She was on the verge of tears and as she caught his eye, shook her head towards where Harry knew the dungeons were. "Point me Theodred." He whispered. The wand spun, then pointed at the dungeons.

"I think he's been imprisoned, Théoden." Harry said, using his first name by virtue of long acquaintance. Eowyn nodded, and said, "He was wounded my Lord, and on the verge of death. I used a potion that Harry said was a gift from Lord Elrond of Rivendell to be used in direst need. I believe he is alive, but Wormtongue… I think he poisoned him and he prevented me or anyone from tending him."

"Take me to him. And if he is dead or beyond help…" Théoden said firmly, then looked at Harry who nodded curtly. Wormtongue would die. Slowly. Painfully. Screaming.

Theodred groaned. Whatever had been on that sword had some serious hallucinogenic properties, and being chained to the wall by his hands hadn't helped. The dancing horses and Eomer wearing Eowyn's favourite dress while scolding him for not dressing for the occasion had been definite clues. Now another. Harry Potter was leaning over him, looking concerned and even angrier than when Eomer had spiked his mead with something distinctly dodgy from Harad, and poured some clean water into his mouth. Could you hallucinate drinking water? If so it was very nice.

Théoden hadn't been pleased at the spiking incident, especially when Harry had turned him blue for an hour while giggling insanely, though he had been mollified by Eomer looking contrite and sporting a horse's tail and hooves leading to the giggling court ladies to wonder what else of horse he had. He smiled softly.

At least this hallucination was nice. Another man leaned over, clearly examining his wound. This one was older, and had kind and grave grey eyes, and Harry, shockingly, appeared to be deferring to him. He felt a cool hand and a cloth on his forehead, and he rolled his half-closed eyes up to see Eowyn and his father, young, or relatively so, once more, and looking grief stricken. He tried to open his mouth to reassure his father, then remembered that not only was this probably a hallucination, but he didn't have the energy to speak. He could vaguely hear the others talking. The mystery man was saying something about, "…variant of poison…morgul blades… eventually lethal… can't move him, would speed it up… needs Athelas." At which point Harry held up a small bag and with a grin extracted some dried leaves.

"…should carry your own supply." He said. The mystery man, clearly a healer of some sort, took the leaves with a nod of thanks, and with Harry's help began to boil them. They smelled really nice, clean and… magical. His head lolled as he drifted into a calm sleep.

"What is that?" Théoden said, understandably tense.

"Athelas, otherwise known as Kingsfoil." Aragorn answered, not looking up.

"But that is a weed." Eowyn said, frowning. "How will it help?"

"A weed with strange properties, especially in the hands of Aragorn. Not only is he the heir of Elendil," Eowyn's and Théoden's eyebrows shot up in concert, while Aragorn looked up and glared at him, "What, you all but announced yourself with that performance outside the hall. Anyway, Aragorn was also raised in Rivendell and trained by Lord Elrond himself in the healing arts. Short of Lord Elrond himself, he is the best. Besides, Athelas is particularly effective against this kind of poison, or at least a variant of it." Harry said confidently, then added quietly, "Hopefully it's in time."

"Harry, I need you to draw out the poison, as much as you can." Aragorn said calmly.

"Okay. Hold him steady, this one could be messy." Harry warned, transfiguring an unwary beetle into a goblet to hold the poison. "_Accio Poison_."

Theodred's body arched and he opened his mouth in a soundless scream, as a thin, pale and sickly green tinged liquid ran out and into the goblet, winning a snort of disgust from Eowyn, as she struggled to hold her cousin down, as he began to thrash his legs, which Aragorn grabbed. "Reminds me of Wormtongue," Harry said conversationally, nodding at the poison. Eowyn grinned. That was why she had missed Harry, his unfailing ability to make light of almost any situation. When he didn't… well, apparently one Dunlending raiding party that had decided that… interfering… with an entire shepherd's family, down to the 10 year old younger son, in front of the shepherd no less, had been found by Harry, testified to his dangerous nature.

All that was left was a large scoured area, approximately 100 yards wide, with small bits of melted metal to mark the unfortunates who had led the raiding party. One had survived, burnt, bloody and terrified, to take the news home. No raiding parties had come within 20 miles of the place ever since, and Harry was apparently whispered of, a figure of extremes, terrible in his wrath and disarmingly charming in his good humour. He was known to be fair and positively kind to those raiders who did nothing more than steal, as long as they handed over their stolen goods, even surreptitiously supplying them with food if they were obviously starving, and an avatar fiery vengeance when they crossed the line.

For all his charm and wit, and his crippling vulnerability, it did not do to forget that under the friendly exterior was a frightening amount of raw power. Theodred, whose writhing had ceased and had been replaced by panting, had professed to feel a slight but perceptible thickness in the air when Harry got very seriously angry. Since Eomer and Eowyn hadn't ever felt it, it was put down to Theodred's Dol Amrothian heritage, which had more than a little elf blood in it, something many ladies who had met him had noted with an appraising eye.

Yes, Harry was as dangerous as he was fair, but also as kind, she thought as she saw him patiently and with a furrowed brow of concentration, extract the last of extractable poison, then stand and lazily vanish the goblet, poison and all.

"Your turn." He said to Aragorn, who had made a poultice of the Athelas, which he secured on the wound with a bandage. Although he did so gently, Theodred winced, and his eyes cleared.

"Alohamora." Harry said, unlocking the shackles, then supporting Theodred as he attempted to stand.

"Welcome back to the land of the living. Even if it doesn't feel like it." Harry said cheerily.

"Always the wit Harry." Theodred said faintly, struggling to keep his balance.

"That's what your dad said. Lack of imagination must be inherited." Harry said absently, Théoden rolling his eyes in the background. "Come on. Let's get you a bed so you can actually sleep."

"No! I need to know if everyone is well first. How is father, Eowyn and Eomer? And there was a Dunlending boy, he saved my life, Eomer took him prisoner, he may be wounded." Theodred asked desperately as Harry supported him by the elbow.

"Two are behind you, and Wormtongue banished the other, but he's fine. In a very bad mood, but fine. Then Wormtongue was banished after Gandalf removed Saruman's spirit from your father's body and stopped him looking like a semi-animated cadaver, Aragorn prevented your father from beheading Wormtongue, crying shame in my opinion, and he ran off and I set his cloak on fire." Harry babbled, sucking in a deep breath as they entered the hall.

Theodred looked up incredulously and mumbled, "Has it ever occurred to you to _breathe_ when you are talking?"

"…Maybe."

"Anyway, I must be after Wormtongue immediately!" Theodred said, staggering free of Harry's grip and making unsteadily in the general direction of the door.

Harry rolled his eyes. "_Stupefy_." Honestly, he thought as he levitated the unconscious heir to the Rohirric throne towards his bedchambers with a whispered '_Mobilicorpus_', it was like talking to himself at 16. And Theodred was just as battered as he had been in that age, for which Saruman would pay, even if he died trying, the corrupted wizard would pay. In blood. Then something occurred to him. "Dunlending boy? _What_ Dunlending boy?"

He apparated back down to the cells, as Aragorn, Eowyn and Théoden were leaving and said, "Dunlending boy. Theodred, as he attempted to make a break for it, mentioned a Dunlending boy, one who saved his life."

"And? Théoden said, puzzled.

"He said Eomer took him prisoner, likely for information and he's probably hidden somewhere Wormtongue wouldn't find him…" Harry thought for a moment. "Eomer's chambers!" he exclaimed and disappeared with a crack. A couple of moments he reappeared. "He's there, and he needs help fast. Come on." He grabbed Aragorn and disapparated again.

**Emrys**

Emrys looked up blearily. The poison was taking effect. The Horselord with the grim face and gruff kindness had kept him in his quarters, hiding him from someone. Not long after he had been ensconced, the Horselord had come back and packed, saying he had been banished by the King's advisor and that he was leaving food for Emrys. He also said that if he needed more food, he would only need to present a seal in the kitchens, which he then handed to Emrys, denoting that he was the Horselord's guest. He had run out of food the previous day, but had not been able to summon the strength to get up and go to the kitchen. As he made one last gargantuan effort, he heard a distant sounding crack, and a tall slenderly built young man with deep green eyes appeared, then looked around the room. After a moment his eyes, suddenly full of concern, lit upon Emrys.

Y brudiwr du! The Black Wizard was here! He had heard tales of the monstrously powerful being, one of extremes. Deadly, ruthless, and terrifying in his wrath, burning murderers to a cinder, but also kind giving supplies to those Dunlendings who raided Lloegyr solely from necessity. The Wizard disappeared with a twirl and crack, reappearing with a slightly disorientated older man, whose black hair was streaked with grey, and despite his ragged clothing, a certain nobility and dignity. The older man gently examined him, callused hands gently lifting his chin and examining his face, particularly the eyes at which he quirked an eyebrow, then the wound. He took Emrys's pulse, then got out a small pot with a slightly weary patience and the wizard filled it with water, then set a fire underneath it. The older man, clearly a healer of some sort, sprinkled some dried leaves into the bubbling pot. Meanwhile the wizard had changed a small pebble into a silver goblet, something that would have caused Emrys's eyes to bug out in surprise on another occasion.

The wizard filled the goblet with clean water issuing from his wand, and with a surprising care, helped Emrys drink. Light green eyes met with dark green, and something that approached understanding passed between them. What struck Emrys was how young he looked, barely older than 20, too young surely for such power. Then he inwardly chuckled. If only the villagers he had grown up with could see him now, lying ill in the quarters of a Horselord prince, while the feared Black Wizard and an apparently important healer tended to him. If someone had told him that a month ago, he would have thought them to be moon touched and mad. And a strange but wonderful smell was beginning to permeate the room.

The healer moved around behind him, out his field of view and he felt two strong hands grasp his shoulders.

"This is going to hurt. Try and hold still." The wizard said in Rohirric, the words being heard as if from far away.

And by Eru and all the Valar it hurt all right. He couldn't stop himself thrashing and screaming a little, but the healer's strong hands held him fast. He saw the poison slide out of his wound, pale, greenish and sticky, into the recently water filled goblet, the wizard directing it carefully. Finally, the last of the poison slipped out and the pain ceased. The healer released Emrys' now rather bruised shoulders with a reassuring pat and began to make a bandage and a poultice from the boiled leaves while the wizard made the poison and goblet disappear, and the rather damp bandage was soon strapped tightly to his arm. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the wizard saying, "Sleep…"


	20. Chapter 20: Preparing for War

**WOOH! Chapter 20! And it's only taken me… 15 months? Sorry this one took a while, I got a bit bogged down.**

**A relatively quiet interval chapter before the battle of Helm's Deep. In which there is comedy and Theodred feels got at.**

**Frodo and Sam**

The two hobbits were depressed to say the least. They were trekking through the most inhospitable terrain in the west of Middle Earth, with no company but each other and that insane Gollum creature.

"Sam, what do you think the rest would have done if they had been here?" Frodo asked, if only to break the silence.

"Well, Harry and Legolas would have killed Stinker here; Aragorn would have tried to stop them, Boromir…" Sam replied, and then looked apologetically sidelong at Frodo, who winced at the mention of the man. Frodo had told him about the incident, and though he had heard Boromir's genuinely grief stricken apologies, he had still been severely shaken by the man's betrayal. Sam continued, "Merry and Pippin would be scared of and curious about Stinker, and Gimli would probably just stand and watch, or try and kill him. Then Harry would say something funny, or something no one but him understands."

Frodo smiled. "Yes Sam, I suppose he would."

"Come on Hobbitses, the way out is near!" Gollum said, scrambling back over the rocks with a hopeful look on his face. And so the Ringbearer, a hobbit, protected by a hobbit gardener and an ex-hobbit schizophrenic, marched on towards Mordor.

**The Grey Company**

Riding with 30 veteran Dunedain was something of an education. While most of them did not speak unless spoken to, generally carrying out their duties in comfortable silence, Elrohir, Elladan and the chief Dunedain, a quiet man called Halbarad who seemed to be a cousin of Aragorn, Harry's friend, future husband to the Lady Arwen and heir to the Gondorian and Arnorian thrones chatted happily away, talking of the lands surrounding them, fielding each and every one of Hermione's questions, and telling stories about their own heroic and comical deeds.

In the evening, the Dunedain set up camp, and Hermione started the fires, muttering that Ron would probably set fire to the tents by accident. Ginny provided some water, while Ron helped rub down and tether the horses, wincing slightly. The ride had, as he loudly claimed, bruised muscles that he didn't even know he had. Once this was done, they all sat round to eat, and Ron made the inevitable ill-advised and not thought out comment reflecting on the last time they had gone camping. Before it could devolve into a full scale argument, Ginny sighed and silenced them both, then summoned their wands, gaining a few admiring grins as her brother and sister-in-law glared at her.

"Now you're both angry at me and can't say a thing. You can have your wands back when you behave like adults instead of children. If you don't behave like adults, it'll be the bat bogey curse for you, now eat up." Ginny said firmly. Hermione and Ron turned away from her, and pointedly away from each other, and ate in enforced silence.

"They've always been like this. They argue, then they make up and they're the best of friends again. It's just a matter of stopping them arguing too much, though I think they enjoy it." Ginny said in reply to one of the twins' questioning look.

"How did you come to know the Black Wizard?" One of the Dunedain suddenly asked.

Ginny blinked. It wasn't the first she'd heard Harry be called that, apparently owing to his hair and dress sense, but it still jarred somewhat.

"I met him when I was 10 years old, though I didn't actually talk to him until I was 11 and he was 12, and that was when he saved me from a piece of the evil soul of our local Dark Lord, Voldemort, by fighting a basilisk."

"What is a basilisk?" The same man asked, curious. Ginny paused to un-silence Ron and Hermione and return their wands, then spoke clinically and briskly.

"A basilisk is a giant snake, 60 feet long, and with a gaze that kills all who meet it and venom that is just as deadly. Voldemort possessed me and used me to open its dwelling place deep in Hogwarts castle, where we learnt magic. Then he used the snake through me to petrify people. The gaze only petrifies if someone sees it in a reflection. Once he was done, he made me paint the words 'Her skeleton will lie in the chamber for ever' near the entrance and made me walk into the chamber where he began to steal my life." Ginny said, keeping her voice under iron control as painful memories resurfaced, times when she remembered nothing but awoke as if from sleep fully dressed and with blood on her hands. She felt Hermione's comforting hand on her arm, and squeezed it gently.

After a long silence, Halbarad prompted gently, "How did you escape?"

"Harry. Even at the age of 12 he had an irresistible drive to save people, even if it meant facing down, whilst practically unarmed, a monster anyone sane would have run from for the sake of someone he barely knew."

"So strong it makes him next to suicidal." Ron interjected dryly, eliciting soft chuckles from their audience.

"That tale reminds me of Legolas. He was once charged 20 orcs with naught but one bow, 5 arrows and a fruit knife." Elrohir said with a smile.

"And then Aragorn fought off a warg with a stick." Elladan added.

"No brother that was merely a very persistent and unwanted suitor, not a warg." Elrohir replied firmly.

"She had too much hair, fangs and bad breath. She was as close to a warg as it is possible to be while still wearing clothing." Elladan said firmly, shuddering at the memory.

"The same thing happened to Harry once." Halbarad said reflectively.

"What did he do?" Ron asked.

"Told her to leave him alone politely and repeatedly, explained about his sweetheart," the Ranger said, nodding at Ginny, "then when she said that a sweetheart who wasn't there didn't deserve him, he lost his temper and cursed her with boils." Halbarad shrugged. "They wore off. Eventually."

Ron's eyebrows rose, and he exchanged a glance with Hermione. Once, Harry would have been at a loss for words and moved away from the abhorrent admirer, instead of cursing them, which was rather stretching the definition of the Statute of Secrecies self-defence clause. Admittedly it didn't really apply as everyone in Middle Earth was well aware of magic, and wizards apparently had a well-deserved reputation as mysterious and dangerous creatures. But for all that, this beautiful and savage world had definitely changed Harry. Exactly how much remained to be seen.

**Rohan**

Harry stood and stretched, then let loose a jaw cracking yawn. Poison extraction wasn't complex, but neither was running a marathon, and the net result of two careful extractions, a small battle and a long flight was a tired wizard. He looked down at his young patient, who was currently dead to the world. The boy was thin with lack of nourishment and the gangly awkwardness of a puppy yet to grow into its paws, but there was a suggestion of latent strength in his build.

In all honesty, the boy reminded him more than a little of half-starved version of himself at what he guessed to be 15, all skin and bone with a thatch of dark hair and striking green eyes. Eyes that held the all too familiar emotions of loss and pain along with a large dose of cynicism. The eyes of someone who had seen and felt far too many terrible things to trust in human nature. Just like his own after Cedric died and the school turned on him. With a flick of his wand he levitated the boy onto Eomer's bed, slipping him under the covers and absently smoothed his hair, gently flicking it out of his eyes.

He then stood and turned, feeling Aragorn's thoughtful gaze on his back, the other having packed up his materials.

"You never really had parents of your own, did you?" The older man asked, clearly thinking about something.

Harry's face tightened. "No. And any father figures I had tended to die." He said curtly, brushing past Aragorn, striding out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "If you'll excuse me, I have an oath about fixing buildings to make good on."

Aragorn looked after Harry, then back at the sleeping Emrys. A vulnerable orphan with no known family and far from home. He thought back to Harry when he had first arrived. His first impression, once he had got past the magic and irreverent sense of humour, was of a vulnerable orphan with no known family and far from home. The description fit both equally well, and Aragorn wondered if Harry was trying, consciously or otherwise to fill the gap in the boy's life and provide a father figure he himself had never properly had. Whatever it was, he thought, anything that could affect Harry's somewhat precarious mental state was a thing to be watched.

When he left Eomer's chambers and turned into the main hall, he nearly ran into Théoden, who nodded politely at him, having divested the excessive furs and changed his clothing, improving his smell dramatically.

"How is the Dunlending? The one who I apparently have to thank for my son still being alive." Théoden asked politely.

"Alive. He had less poison in his system, but he didn't have that concoction of my foster fathers to slow it down, and he is small and malnourished. Like many in these hard times. He is sleeping now, still in Eomer's quarters. We thought that the sudden appearance of a Dunlending in Edoras would cause problems." Aragorn replied dryly as they walked out of the doors, both somewhat wary about one another. Aragorn's royal ancestry could be traced back Numenor, over 3 millennia ago and even had Maiar roots. Théoden's royal line stretched back just under 500 years, though his ancestor's roots went far further. It would be safe to say that he was slightly bothered about a person whose mere existence could quite easily destabilise what precarious balance was left in the West of Middle Earth, particularly the relationship between Rohan and Gondor. If Denethor in his current state of mind heard about Aragorn's presence in Rohan, he might think that Théoden was plotting/supporting a coup against him.

Théoden had not ruled a kingdom for nearly 40 years without gaining a sense for the winds of fate, and they were currently they were blowing due Aragorn. However Fate is a cruel mistress, and her winds tend to be of the kind that pick up and break anyone in range, and Théoden knew he would have to play his cards very carefully if it came down to a battle between the returning heir and obstinate steward. The fact that Aragorn had allies such as Gandalf, Harry, Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen and Gimli son of Gloin, as well as Boromir the Steward's son, who at least would not interfere with Aragorn's claim, meant that such a contest would almost certainly go Aragorn's way. The quiet, wise and somehow familiar man who stood beside him bore careful watching.

They proceeded outside, and were greeted by the sight of a series of small, contained fires that were burning merrily, clearly Harry's handiwork. Harry himself appeared to be busy repairing buildings. Gandalf drew up alongside them, smiling at Théoden's raised eyebrow.

"Master Potter takes his oaths very seriously, lord King. On seeing the state that the machinations of Wormtongue and Saruman had left the city in, he swore to help repair and rebuild." Gandalf said, as Harry appeared in front of him with a crack. To Gandalf's credit, he didn't even flinch.

"I'm enlarging buildings as well. No child should have to grow up in small patches of squalor." Harry said grimly. "I grew up in a small cupboard," he added by way of explanation for his depth of feeling. As he said that, Gimli could be heard barking instructions at some commandeered palace guards, most of who hadn't done much more than stand outside looking self-important for the last 5 years.

"Careful, careful, put the weight bearing beams here, it'll hold up the whole house. No, _there_, you witless buffoon!"

Harry smirked and said, "As you can tell, he's taken to the task with… enthusiasm. And it achieves two objectives. New houses are built and your guards get a good airing."

Théoden favoured him with a flat and not very amused look, and continued to survey the reconstruction efforts.

"Well, I'd better get back to work." Harry said, turning to walk back down.

"Tarry a moment, Harry. There is something… no, someone out on the plain, who has run into difficulties. They could be bringing vital news." Harry followed Gandalf's pointing finger and shaded his eyes against the setting sun.

"I'm on it." He resized his broomstick, jumped astride it and kicked off.

Théoden blinked and said slowly, "I never knew he could do that."

"Nor did I, until I we had to find Merry and Pippin." Aragorn said. "It's rather surprising at first, but eventually you just get used to one thing about him. For Harry Potter, there is no such thing as impossible."

Théoden chuckled and rolled up his sleeves. "Too true, Lord Aragorn. Come. We must show the people of Rohan that true royalty doesn't just stand around looking ceremonial all day."

Aragorn followed him, grinning as he saw the royal guardsmen nervously bob around the King like bantams around an overly adventurous chick, trying to prevent him lifting anything too heavy for him and any possible liberties being taken by the populace and getting a tongue lashing for their pains. Rohan, he thought with a slight smile, was still a lot of fun. Even if one had the weight of destiny and the fate of the world on your shoulders.

**Harry**

Harry flew quickly, but not with too much haste towards the dark blob on the plain, which soon resolved itself into two children and a horse that was far too big for them, a small girl on the horses back and an older boy who had fallen from the saddle from exhaustion. Harry landed carefully as the girl let out a frightened squeak. He could sympathise with that reaction. After all, it was hardly ordinary for something to drop out of the sky, let alone anything good.

"Hello, my name is Harry. I am the Black Wizard and a friend of your King. What is your name little one?" Harry said gently in Rohirric, checking on the boy as he did so. Exhaustion and dehydration, as he had thought, the boy must have given any provisions they had to his little sister.

"My name is Freya, that's my brother Eothain, and our horse is called Garulf." The girl said in a trembling voice, full of fear and fatigue, as Harry lifted her down from the horse.

Harry concealed a smile at her earnestness, and replied, "Fine names, all of them. Why do you come here alone? Where are your parents?" And as he asked, the little girl dissolved into tears and wrapped herself around his legs, presumably for something to cling to.

"Freya, listen to me. You've probably heard stories about me. Most of them are false, but there is one thing that is true throughout. No innocent gets hurt on my watch. You need fear nothing. I will take you and your brother to the King, where you can tell him what has happened and you will be cared for. And if I can, I will help you find your parents."

The little girl looked up and with tears in her eyes, said quietly, "Promise?"

"I swear by all that I hold dear. Come on. You and your brother are going to fly."

Harry carefully installed the two children in front of him, and flew at a gentle pace towards Edoras, Freya looking down and giggling, sadness temporarily forgotten.

The return took far longer than the trip because Harry was taking a great deal of care and when they landed, he lifted first Freya, then her brother who he carried into Meduseld.

"Can you go and find the Lady Eowyn, King Théoden and Lord Aragorn? Quickly." Harry said to one of the guardsmen and shot a glance at the two children. "And send someone down to the kitchens and tell them to send something warm up." The guardsman nodded and went to confer with a couple of his colleagues. Harry sat the two down on a bench and to Freya's wide eyed amazement, conjured a couple of blankets.

"Now, I'm going back to get your horse. Sit tight until I get back." Harry said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly and left. When he returned half an hour later, having ridden the tired and obstinate horse into the city with a lot of inventive cursing in a variety of languages, he saw Eowyn helping the children to eat, with a maternal expression on her face, Aragorn pensive, Theodred now up and about and reflexively gripping the hilt of his sword, sparks of anger burning in his eyes and Emrys, also up and about, looking pale and his expression was unreadable.

Théoden himself sat on his throne, looking weary while Gandalf spoke to him quietly. Then Théoden stood, and he had a brief argument with Aragorn, then Theodred when he backed Aragorn up, his voice tinged with frosty steel. Harry walked in in time to hear Théoden say, "We ride for Helm's Deep."

"Don't we have the advantage in open battle? I can open holes in their formations and your cavalry will go through them like a hot knife through butter." Harry interjected, and Theodred gestured at Harry as if to emphasise his argument.

"I am the King of Rohan. I rule here, not the Prince of Rohan, not Elendil's heir and definitely not the Black Wizard. And that will be an end to it." Théoden said coldly.

"You could not face them in open combat anyway." Emrys said quietly, then looked startled when everyone turned to him, as if he had not meant to speak his thoughts aloud. With some reluctance he elaborated.

"Saruman has many ferocious Warg's and riders to match. You will have enough trouble keeping those off the refugees. If he did not have them, you would have a chance in open battle. With them? Your only chance is the fortress." Then he walked hesitantly over to Theoden and went down on one knee. "I, Emrys Ap Derfel would serve you, Lord King."

Theoden looked at him strangely, then asked puzzled, "Why would one of your people wish to serve me, Emrys Ap Derfel?"

The boy waited a moment before replying then said grimly, "Our chieftains have sold their souls to Saruman. The give him our womenfolk to breed his horrendous monsters, and one of those given was my sister. Also, my mother was of your people. I do not know her name in your language, for she never used it, but my father called her Branwen, for her beauty and her hair, which was black as a raven's wing. And finally, Lord King, you and your house have treated me well, tended my wounds and cared for me. I feel obliged to repay you."

Theoden stayed silent for a long time, then drew his sword and held it hilt first to Emrys and said, "Say the words."

"I swear my eternal loyalty unto you and all your house. I pledge my loyalty until death." Emrys replied, embellishing the traditional lines.

Theoden raised an eyebrow and said, "For your deeds of immense bravery in defending my only son, a man you had no reason to love, against a foe far stronger than yourself, I will give you a title as well. Rise, Emrys the Valiant, Esquire of Rohan. Serve faithfully and well."

Emrys himself looked a little puzzled, and bowed to the King, and said, "Thank you, Lord King."

"I assign you to my son's service. Your job will be to protect him-"

"Which may involve knocking him out if he refuses to retreat or something." Harry said as he walked in.

"That would never be necessary. I have a well-developed sense of self preservation." Theodred said haughtily.

"So says the man who wished to go chasing after Wormtongue as soon as he was coherent. I had to stun you to stop you!"

"I was delirious."

"And the time you chased after 5 wargs with only your sword and a broken shield, no doubt valiantly planning to kill them by sticking in their throats when they ate you? And the time you loudly pronounced that you were single in front of the entire court of Gondor?" Harry said, grinning.

"And when you were 11 you decided that riding an unbroken 3 year old stallion was a good idea?" Eowyn chipped in.

"Or when you thought that asking me for a horse just after you had lost a very valuable sword was a good idea?" Théoden added dryly.

"Or when you tried to court a young Gondorian lady whose father was a noted swordsman and extremely overprotective? Despite knowing all this beforehand and blithely stating that your 'love would serve as a shield'?" Boromir said casually, having wandered in just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.

"What does courting mean?" Freya asked, all sweetness and bemusement, and Theodred went bright red.

Theodred looked decidedly harassed and mumbled, "I hate you all. I hate you all very, very much."

Harry sidled up to him and patted his head and said "No you don't."

Emrys just stood to one side and wondered despairingly just what mad men he was now bound to serve, and how mad he must be to join them. A smile crept over his face. At the very least it would be interesting to watch.

Théoden's face then lost its amusement which was replaced by a hard, grim look. "Get packing. We leave for Helm's Deep in one hour. Gamling, tell the people to bring only essentials."


	21. Chapter 21: Everyone has a Dark Side

**Nearly 300 reviews! Wow, and in 21 chapters! How far I've come… Please Read and Review.**

**Humour mixed with a bit of darkness and angst, as well as a fair bit of action. Next stop, Helm's Deep. I reiterate now that Harry is in love with Ginny, and he and Aragorn are just BFF's. No slash, though it is your right to read it that way if you so wish.**

The evacuation of Edoras was a long and drawn out affair, as people went through the customary stages of shock, fear, curiosity, denial, and with some coaxing, acceptance. The Fellowship and Theodred were helping out, Emrys taking his new duties seriously and acting like Theodred's shadow. When people heard his name, they often flinched briefly before accepting his presence upon seeing that he was Prince Theodred's squire of sorts and that he went out of his way to ingratiate himself with everyone he met. Someone, Harry thought, had taught that boy well.

Gandalf had galloped away, muttering something to Aragorn before he left, presumably to track down Eomer and his eored as well as some much needed reinforcements. Harry had protested, pointing out that he could find Eomer easily, and far more quickly, but Gandalf had overruled him, saying that the Rohirrim saw Harry as a talisman, and that Harry's talents were far better for destruction than his own. Harry had sulked, then conceded the point. Now, Harry made himself useful by using featherweight charms and levitating heavy boxes, earning smiles and cries of, "Oh, what a _nice _boy. You don't get them like that these days," from the elderly and when he lifted a box by hand, some admiring looks at his not inconsiderable muscles.

Soon, he and the rest of the Fellowship had gained a small cadre of fans, young women sighing over their muscles (even a couple of young men were staring), small children in awe and curious and boys trying to prove to these living legends that they were worthy to carry things alongside them. More than one small boy had to be gently dissuaded from lifting a box that was far too heavy for him in an attempt to impress the assembled great men, and most drifted off when their parents called them.

The enormous cavalcade finally got under way, Harry performing a mix of reconnaissance, traffic control and ferry service for those who got separated from friends and family. Horsemen were ranging ahead of the giant column, scouring the land ahead for anything Harry had missed, and so far they had found nothing. Then when they were three quarters of the way to Helm's Deep, Harry heard a scream. Orienting himself on it and dropping like a stooping falcon, he saw a large Warg with a rider savaging Hama. He fired a reductor curse, killing the Warg and spilling its rider. Harry pulled out of his attack run, stunned the Orc and landed.

"Get back to the King! Warn him. It's a scout, there will be more behind. I'll do what I can for Hama." The other man nodded pale face and galloped his horse back to the main column. As he did, Legolas came running on, presumably towards the incoming riders.

"Slow them down!" Harry barked, then turned to look at Hama. The man wasn't breathing, and Harry could tell that he was very dead. He sighed and closed the man's eyes. Such a loyal servant she not be rewarded so poorly.

Théoden and the royal guards came galloping up, and he caught Harry's eye briefly. Harry shook his head. Théoden nodded briefly, and asked, "How many are there?"

"I'm not sure, Legolas has gone to slow them down. Just over that ridge," Harry said, leaping into flight.

As he reached the ridge he saw Legolas firing at an incredible rate, bringing down warg after warg. Harry fired off a couple of stunners then paused. Dog's had really sharp hearing, especially Warg's. Maybe he could turn that to his advantage.

"You might want to cover your ears." He said, taking off again and rising 20 feet up as the Rohirric cavalry formed. "Sonorus."

Legolas' eyes widened, possibly guessing Harry's plan, managed to swing onto Arod in front of Gimli in mid gallop, garnering admiring looks from the assembled Rohirrim, then cover his ears. It was just in time, as Harry tested his plan.

He shrieked. Very, very loudly. And it rang out over the hills, magically enhanced to be more piercing than Aunt Petunia when Dudley had fallen into the Boa Constrictor's enclosure: "_**SCREE!**_"

The Rohirrim clapped hands to their ears and swore, horses took nervous little sidesteps, and Boromir could be heard yelling, "A POX ON ALL BLOODY DERANGED WIZARDS!"

But that was nothing on the reaction of the Warg's, many of which crashed in mid charge, bleeding from the ears and the nose, pawing at their heads and whining.

"**Hah, it worked! King Théoden, if I may say so, now is your time! Quietus**." Harry called down and Théoden saluted him with his sword and signalled the charge. If the Wargs had been remotely coherent, horses would have been useless, but since Harry had ruined their cohesion and robbed them of their momentum, they were easy prey for the horsemen of Rohan.

Harry dived ahead of the charge, cutting throats, scoring large gashes, performing spectacular barrel rolls and laughing like a maniac.

Boromir looked up from killing an Orc and shook his head slowly. "There is something deeply wrong with that young man's head."

"I'm inclined to agree milord." Emrys said, keeping half an eye on Theodred and shook his head with a falsely disappointed sigh, having lost his apprehension of the Fellowship and Lords of Rohan upon witnessing their crazy antics. "You would expect a wizard of his standing to have more dignity."

"Dignity? This is _Harry_ we're talking about. He once changed my father the Steward of Gondor's hair pink. Any dignity around him is quickly destroyed." Boromir snorted.

Emrys shrugged as Harry incinerated another Warg. "As is anything that gets in his way." Emrys paused to kill a wounded, but still mobile Orc that had designs on Theodred's back. "In my village, when the adults and older children wanted to scare us, they told us tales of the Black Wizard, the silent harbinger of either fiery death or gifts of food, based on whether someone had done evil or good. I spent several years having nightmares about him, and now I fight alongside him and find out that he likes a good laugh and to spend time with his friends."

Boromir nodded. "His odd behaviour and youth makes people forget just how dangerous he is, and unlike most beings that plague peoples nightmares in these dark-" Boromir paused to dispatch a couple of orcs and put a wounded and mindlessly snapping Warg out of its misery. "- days, he is human underneath the mantle of mystery."

Most of the Orc's had decided to cut and run, realising that only death would find them if they hung around in range of the Black Wizard.

Aragorn was not faring so well. He had vaulted on behind an Orc in an attempt to kill it, and was now being dragged towards a cliff edge. Said Orc had fallen off, as had the pendant Arwen had given him, and his hand was forcibly attached to the suicidal Warg. He tried cutting it, but couldn't get the requisite leverage. Heart pounding, he tried again. And then he was pulled over the cliff, and moments later both he and the Warg hit the turbulent waters of the Anduin with a crash. He felt himself detach from the Warg, and in a very Harry-like moment he thought, why couldn't this have happened 30 seconds earlier? Then everything faded to black and he knew no more.

Theodred was quietly impressed with his new bodyguard. The boy had all tasks set to him well and without complaint, even cracking a few jokes along with the rest of the rag-tag group of Lords and Wizards. And now he proved to be capable fighter, with sharp reflexes and a knack for finding chinks in the opponents armour, and using their size against them. What he was less good at was judging when to attack and more than once he had been drawn out by a particularly cunning Orc, meaning that Theodred and Boromir had had to intervene on Emrys' behalf a couple of times, and his lack of mass counted against him when fighting something like a Warg or a large Orc.

As Theodred removed his helmet and whipped his forehead clear of sweat, Harry landed beside them, face still flushed from the excitement of the battle. "Have any of you seen Aragorn?" Harry asked, and was met with shaken heads. "Heard him? Smelt him? Seriously, if you ever went Orc hunting with him you would know how bad he can smell. You can tell it's him from a mile off if the wind is in the right direction."

"Harry, you're babbling." Boromir said patiently.

"Ah, so I am. Sorry about that. Hello Emrys. How is life as protection for that poor fool?" Harry asked cheerily.

"I'm enjoying working for Prince Theodred." Emrys replied carefully, and Harry clapped him on the shoulder and chuckled.

"You could have been a politician with a mind like that. Probably best you aren't." Harry made a face. "None of the politicians I've met have ever been particularly friendly to me unless they wanted something."

"With your sparkling wit, how could they fail to like you? They must have mixed you up with some other smartarse." Theodred replied sarcastically, looking around. "And Legolas and Gimli appear to be interrogating an Orc." He added belatedly.

Harry disappeared with a crack and reappeared next to Legolas, who didn't flinch, and Gimli, who jumped and began swearing in Khuzdul at Harry, causing Theodred to grin as the young wizard steadfastly ignored the irate dwarf with the air of long practice. From what he could see, Harry's expression had darkened and he was now hissing some indistinct threats at the creature, which was clearly on its last legs. It said something, chuckled, and died. The three interrogators dashed over to the nearby cliff edge, but not before Legolas picked something that glittered, and lifted it carefully out of the creatures nerveless paw.

Boromir had gone grey, and was muttering, "No, it can't be," , then took off towards the Fellowship at a dead run. Theodred and Emrys shared a look, then followed. This, Theodred thought, could not be good.

And it wasn't. It soon became clear that Aragorn had fallen off the cliff somehow, and had been washed away. Aragorn, wise warrior, gentle healer, heir of Elendil, Captain of the West, hope of the Free Peoples and most importantly, patient friend, was gone. Theodred had barely known him, but he felt grief for the loss of a man so kind and brave. The others were so consumed by their grief that they did not notice when Theoden drew up beside them. Theodred nodded to his father, who returned the nod.

"We do not have time to search. We leave the dead and ride for the fortress." He said curtly, and was met by a glare from Legolas, a mix of anger and disbelief. Théoden met the glare steadily, and Legolas looked away, staring at the pendant he had taken, something that had presumably belonged to Aragorn. Everyone turned to go.

Then Harry said quietly, "No." As one, the Fellowship members took several steps back. Clearly this did not precipitate anything good. Théoden turned and looked at Harry, and was faced by a stare that crackled with anger and loss.

"Harry, there is nothing we can do for him. He is almost certainly dead. You will only waste time looking for him, time that could cost lives."

"I'm going to look for him, find his body at least. I, we, all owe him that much." Harry said coldly.

"In life Lord Aragorn was a friend, an asset, an ally. Now, he is nothing more than a dead body, a casualty. This is the cold reality of war. Loss goes hand in hand with it." Théoden said harshly.

"_Do not talk to me of loss, old man. I have suffered enough loss for a thousand lifetimes. I will not suffer this. He was or is my friend. Not just a casualty._" Harry snarled. Power began to gather around him, as he spoke, an ugly, raw energy that sent sparks of electricity running up and down his body. Theodred shivered. Every once in a while, Harry reminded people why the forces of darkness feared him so, that he wielded easily enough power to squash anyone in his way like an insect.

Theoden stood his ground, and said quietly, steel in his voice, "Mr Potter, you are possibly the one thing standing between Saruman and my people. My responsibility is to them, not Lord Aragorn, to whom your loyalty does credit. You will come with me. _Now_."

The power around Harry began to build, and he chuckled, a harsh, cruel and utterly inhuman sound. As his hair began to flutter in an unseen breeze, the sky began to darken and the air around began to shimmer like a heat haze. With a cold laugh, he said, "What makes you think you can stop me? Any of y-"

_**KATHUNK**_

Harry keeled over, poleaxed, power dissipating like morning mist burned away by the sun's rays, revealing Emrys who had snuck up behind him and belted Harry with his shield.

"Your title is well chosen, Esquire of Rohan. Only someone possessed of a truly valiant heart would have done that." Theoden said, a slight tremor in his voice, the others nodding vigorously. And who could honestly blame him? The fury and power in Harry's bearing and manner would have given Sauron cause to pause and reconsider his options.

They picked Harry up, and slung him over a spare horse, then rode, many men fewer and those who remained with heavier hearts, to Helm's Deep.

**Harry**

Helm's Deep. The mighty fortress of Rohan that had defied and denied each and every one of the foes of Rohan who had attacked it. Even Eomer's fortress of Aldburg, an impressive place in of itself, did not compare to the stark and harsh power of the walls, upon which armies had lapped like the waves of a sea, battering but never covering the walls.

No foe had ever taken it, but as Harry dourly reflected as the remains of Rohirric cavalry rode into the fortress, there was a first time for everything. And with Aragorn gone, hope was gone. He had been so close, yet so far from his friend as he fell. The news would literally kill Arwen, and it looked as if it were killing Legolas. With a bitter smile, he remembered that Aragorn's childhood name had been 'Estel', meaning hope. Hope was gone. And he had nearly hurt his friends. In his anger he hadn't realised what he was doing, but that did not excuse it.

His bitter train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of an anxious Eowyn, who looked relieved to see her Uncle, but shocked at how few had returned. When Harry saw her, a tsunami of guilt rolled over him.

"So few… so few of you have returned." Eowyn said to Théoden as he dismounted.

He paused for a moment and said, "Our people are safe now. We have paid for it with many lives" then began to remove his equipment and saddle from his horse. As he did, Gimli walked up to her with a heavy heart.

"Lord Aragorn, where is he?" She asked. The remains of the Fellowship turned away as one, until Gimli managed to choke something out.

"He fell."

Eowyn looked horrified and grief stricken, but Harry paid her no mind as he dismounted, looked grimly up at the highest point on the fortress, and disapparated with a loud crack. When he arrived at his new vantage point, he saw the cavalry enter the fortress and stable their horses. The wind suddenly picked up, and he stumbled cursing, and grabbed hold of the wall. Once he was certain that he was braced strongly, he drew his wand and began to ward the fortress.

"Protego Maxima, Defendre Projectilum…"

**Boromir and Eowyn**

Eowyn held her sorrow within her with difficulty as it tore at her insides, demanding to be let out. But she was the Shieldmaiden of Rohan, and she would not cry.

When Aragorn had not been present with the Fellowship, she had been worried, but pushed it to the back of her mind, reasoning that he could be covering their retreat, or scouting the enemy. When she had asked them where he was and got expressions of grief as a reply, she knew he was gone. The Dwarf Gimli's statement only confirmed it. She was hardly surprised when Harry dismounted without a word and transported himself to the top of the fortress, where he appeared to be strengthening the defences. Boromir picked up the reins of Harry's without complaint, despite the fact that a warrior was expected to at least hand his horse to the grooms before leaving, clearly unfazed at Harry's unexpected thoughtlessness. Catching her surprised glance, he explained.

"Aragorn was the first person Harry knew in Middle Earth, and I suspect Harry came to view him as almost an older brother, leaving aside his incredible protectiveness of his friends. Harry knew for longer, and knew him better, than any other mortal man in this world. It is also easy to forget how young he is, and how much he has lost in that short time."

Boromir paused and looked up as another crack heralded Harry's appearance on another part of the fortress, where he continued to cast enchantments. "I suspect that he feels as if history is repeating itself once more, and many more people will die that he cares about. Many people he thinks he should have been able to save. It's what he came here to get away from, and Aragorn's death may just have reopened old wounds." Boromir looked sadly up at the subject of their conversation, who had moved close enough that his face was clearly visible, a mask of bitterness, anger, regret, guilt and grief.

"For now it is best to leave him. When your uncle repeatedly tried to force him to not waste time searching for Aragorn…" Boromir shuddered, remembering the dark aura Harry had projected. "Something emerged. A darker side to his nature. Colder, crueller, unfettered by conscience or morality. I felt the power gather around him, and I am certain he could have wiped all of us out in a moment. It was not like when we lost Gandalf that was simple grief with no darkness. Even so, it was enough to send bolts of power out for hundreds of metres around, and destroyed the Eastern Gate of Moria. This time… it was different. We have Emrys and a well-timed thump from his shield to thank that he didn't snap entirely and kill your uncle."

Eowyn looked shocked. She had known Harry was powerful, and that he could be volatile, but the possibility he could get so angry and strong as to kill friends with a mere thought was something that terrified her, as it would any ordinary being faced with the existence of a living force of nature.

"He hasn't spoken since he woke up, except to apologise repeatedly and sincerely to your uncle and thank Emrys volubly for knocking him out before he did any harm. He will come out of his shadow sooner or later, he has too good a heart not to. But scolding him will not help. Not yet, anyway." With those cryptic parting words, Boromir led his and Harry's horses away, leaving a somewhat puzzled shield maiden behind.

**Aragorn**

Aragorn groaned. His entire body was battered, and he felt like someone had picked him and wrung him out like a washcloth. And now Brego was snuffling around his face. He struggled into a sitting position, and reviewed his memories. He remembered lining up for the charge and Legolas displaying extraordinary agility to swing himself onto his horse while it was in a full gallop, drawing envious and appreciative glances from the Rohirrim. He remembered the crunch of impact, and the roar of battle, the ferocity of the wargs. He remembered being pulled over the cliff by the maddened warg and desperately trying to cut himself free, then the tumbling and smashing of the river. Brego kneeled to help him struggle onto his back. He marshalled his will and clicked Brego into motion, wincing as the horse stood. It was a long ride to Helm's Deep, and he had little time to make it in.

Soon he came across the Uruk army, and swore softly. 10,000 at least, all of a height and size with those he had fought at the Falls of Rauros. If even half of them were as competent, even with a Wizard of Harry's power on their side, the battle would be desperate in the extreme. He surveyed the army once more, grimly noting the standard of the white hand, and urged Brego into a canter. Some hours later he could see the walls of Helm's deep come into view.

**Legolas**

Legolas suddenly felt something tug inside him. He had been quietly following Gimli around, examining the fortress, which Gimli was pointedly praising at the top of his voice, hoping that the renowned reputation of the Dwarves for knowing good stone work when they saw it would help the defenders confidence. Following the feeling he turned and ran towards the walls. Gimli paused in his admiration of the curvature of the inner keep to follow him, and saw Legolas staring at something in the distance with the first smile he had worn since Aragorn had tumbled over the cliff. He followed Legolas' gaze after jumping then holding onto the wall to get a view over it, and saw a dark and indistinct figure on horseback.

Gimli dropped to his feet with a sigh and said, "Who is it, Legolas?"

"Hope Gimli. Hope is coming."

"And what sort of answer is that?" Gimli asked indignantly.

"One you'll understand soon enough." Legolas said with a grin, and then leapt off the wall and executed a perfect somersault to land on his feet, shocking some of the soldiers unused to the ways of elves.

"Bloody elves." Gimli muttered, and stared out over the land in front of him. And then nearly fell off the wall in shock as Harry shot past him on that flying broomstick he had used to hunt for the hobbits, presumably going to see who it was, and kill them if necessary. He watched as Harry quickly closed the distance between the fortress and the horseman, slowing down and circling him and then landing and helping the clearly injured figure down from his horse and hugging him fiercely. When Gimli smiled in realisation, it nearly split his head in two. He made his way down the steps, not even bothering to curse the lack of provisions for persons of short stature. Hope had returned.

**Harry**

Harry paused in his warding to see Legolas race up the steps, closely followed by Gimli, and stare intently at something out on the plains, a dark and indistinct shape on horseback. He sniggered as he saw Gimli leap and grab the edge of the wall in a valiant attempt to get a better view. Well, if it drew such interest it was worth a quick look.

He pulled his shrunken Firebolt out of his pack, enlarged it, and then leapt off the second wall with a war whoop, the Firebolt's acceleration cutting in less than halfway down, sending him shooting past Gimli out towards the distant figure. It had been long time since he had really cut loose on a broomstick, he thought with a slightly bitter smile. Aragorn would have been amused to see his joy on a broomstick. He slowed and looked at the approaching figure whose head was bowed with exhaustion. It couldn't be. He flew in a circle around him. It was without a shadow of a doubt Aragorn. He landed as fast as he could, and went to help Aragorn to the ground. The ranger winced as he got out of the saddle and made a wheezing sound as Harry gathered him into a rib cracking hug.

"Harry… air becoming a…real issue…must… breathe!" Aragorn managed to say, and Harry released him with a rueful expression.

"Sorry. But never scare us like that again! Legolas has been moping, I nearly snapped and killed everyone, Boromir and Gimli were busy keeping Legolas from falling into complete depression and Eowyn…" Harry paused for breath and looked a little embarrassed, then his expression turned serious. "You're going to have to tell her. And not just tell her, explain, soon."

Aragorn sighed. "I know. But we have more immediate problems. 10,000 Uruk-Hai, like the ones at Amon Hen, are coming this way. They'll be here by nightfall."

Harry blinked and said. "Crap."

Aragorn nodded, being used to some of Harry's more unusual idioms. "A crude but succinct summation."

"I'll take you, Théoden will want to hear about this as soon as possible, and your horse can find his way in, right?"

Aragorn nodded, and turned his horse, whispering, "_Le hannon Brego, le hannon,_" then patting him on flank, sending him towards the fortress. Harry sat astride his broom and motioned Aragorn to get on behind.

"You will want to hold on tight, this thing moves very quickly." And with that, Harry kicked off, with Aragorn holding on for dear life.

As they soared over the wall and came in to land, a crowd was gathering. Harry quickly beckoned one of the gate guards and told him in an undertone to let Brego in when he arrived and take him to the stables for a good rub down and some food and water.

While he did, Aragorn's attention was turned by the sound of Gimli grumbling and elbowing his way through the crowd.

"Where is he, where is he, get out of the way, I'm going ta kill him!" Gimli broke through the crowd and paused for a moment, then hugged Aragorn.

"You are the luckiest, the canniest… and the most reckless man I have ever known! Bless you, bless you laddie." He said, hugging Aragorn tightly around the waist, clearly on the verge of tears.

Aragorn gently detached him and asked urgently in a low voice, "Gimli, where is the King?"

"I know where he is Aragorn. You want me to take you by broom?" Harry interjected, waving his broom for emphasis. Aragorn blanched, and shook his head sharply to general amusement. Harry sighed, and said, "Follow me then."

While they walked up, Aragorn asked quietly, "What did you mean when you said you nearly snapped and killed everyone?"

"I… Theoden tried to force to not search for you and go to Helm's Deep. I objected. He tried again, and something in me snapped." Harry said, then his face crumpled. "What if I'm turning into another Voldemort, Aragorn? I nearly _killed_ my friends."

"Harry, listen to me. Everyone has their darker impulses, even I, and you have been touched by darkness before. They are closest to the surface when we are vulnerable. You were particularly vulnerable, and with your power it is not surprising to see them manifest themselves like that. If you want indisputable proof that you will not become like this Voldemort, just look at why you got angry. Because you were concerned for a friend. From what you have told me, this Voldemort creature had no friends, no one he cared for. If that is not proof, I do not know what is. But be careful, my friend. It is all too easy to slip into the darkness. You will have to keep a sharper watch on yourself from now on." Aragorn said calmingly.

"Thank you." Harry said in a small voice, then said, "If I ever go fully to the dark… please. Put me down. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I became like Voldemort or Saruman or Sauron."

Aragorn's face stiffened, then his hand touched his sword hilt. "Of course. I pray that I will never have to, but if necessary, I will be there." He said softly. The rest of the trip was passed in thoughtful silence.

When they arrived outside the hall, gawping onlookers following them the whole way as well as rumours that the Lord Aragorn was alive, Legolas blocked their path staring flatly at Aragorn. After a moment he said something in Sindarin Harry didn't catch, and added, in a deadpan tone, "You look terrible." They held the stare for a moment, then both broke into laughter. At that moment Legolas handed the token Arwen had given Aragorn to him.

"_Hannon le_." Aragorn said fervently in a quiet voice.

Only Harry, who had spotted Eowyn approaching caught her pained expression. He grimaced in sympathy, then followed them in, Aragorn opening the doors to the War Council's chamber in the most dramatic manner possible.

Needless to say his appearance caused shock among those planning the defence, not least Boromir who immediately crossed the room with a spreading grin and clasped arms with Aragorn, who returned the gesture with a weary smile.

After the usual greetings, ranging from the incredulous, 'We-thought-you-were-dead' to the concerned, 'Are-you-well', Aragorn announced told them what he had told Harry: There were 10,000 Uruks coming towards Helm's Deep and that they would be there by nightfall.

Théoden's face was expressionless. Then he said, firmly, "Let them come," and strode out, leaving the others behind. Boromir had returned to pouring over the troop dispositions with the Rohirric commanders, while Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli followed him. Harry meanwhile was looking out the open door with a thoughtful expression.

"I'm going out to fly a patrol. I want to see the army for myself, and see how far they are away. I'll have a look over the mountains too, see if there are nasty surprises hidden away. We don't want Saruman cutting off the only potential escape route for the civilians now would we?" Harry said, as much to himself as to any still in the room.

"Good idea, but check your fortress wards and make sure you stay out of sight of the army," Boromir said, glancing up distractedly, in time to catch Harry roll his eyes at him, and then disappear with a crack. Boromir gave it little thought except to assume that he had gone to find a better place to take off from.

In fact Harry apparated down to the wall of the inner keep in time to catch Théoden standing nose to nose with a perturbed Aragorn, saying, "…and who will come? Elves? Dwarves? We are not so lucky in our friends as you," nodding at Legolas and Gimli respectively. He continued, "The old alliances are dead." Then Aragorn said something ill-advised.

"Gondor will answer." He said, though Harry doubted if he was as confident of that as he appeared.

Théoden promptly lost his temper. "Gondor?" He snarled. "Where was _Gondor_ when the Westfold fell? Where was _Gondor_ when our enemies closed in around us? Where was Gondor…" He turned away slightly, as though reining in his temper with some difficulty. Then finally he said softly, "No, my Lord Aragorn, we are alone." He then walked away, calling out orders to his subordinates as he went.

"What did I miss?" Harry said dryly.

"Théoden thinks we're all going to die, so we might as well go out in style. I feel he underestimates the Uruks." Gimli rumbled.

"How could we fail to have style?" Harry said, furrowing his brow in mock confusion. "I'm here."

"And no doubt you will look the height of fashion and good taste when an Uruk axe splits your oversized head in twain." Boromir said flatly, having drawn quietly up behind them in an inspection of his own. "Now is not the time for jokes. I thought you were going to patrol?"

"If the time for jokes is not now, when?" With that question, he swung his leg over his broomstick and kicked off hard, moving like some absurd bird of prey with his grey cloak and habitual black clothes billowing out behind him.

Boromir sighed and shook his head. Gimli caught his expression and chuckled. "Aye, laddie, he does what he wishes, when he wishes. You just have to hope that's also what you want him to do. Thankfully, it usually is." Gimli paused and thought for a moment, then conceded, "He means well."

"He reminds me of myself at that age, albeit for different reasons. I felt so sure that I was always right and that every little decision was mine to make. A couple of battles and I thought myself a veteran. I was an independent minded creature even then. I suspect Harry's authority issues stem from somewhere else however." Boromir said ruefully.

"He's used to being a leader, the one people look to in a major engagement. He also likes to work alone. Maybe the two responses cause his recalcitrance." Legolas theorised.

"Or he just does it because that's the way he is." Gimli replied.

"My dear dwarfish friend, that is what I said."

"No it wasn't."

"Yes it was."

"No it wasn't."

"_Yes_, it was!"

"_No_, it wasn't!"

Boromir strode off, shaking his head. You get the finest warriors in Middle Earth together and all they do is bicker like children. Typical really.

**And on that note, please click the not so little box below. Go on… **


	22. Chapter 22: Battle is Joined

**A/N: In which there is action and massive amounts of epic. Also, I figured that something good was needed to expunge the clumsy chapter 21. **

**For all those who get the immature joke further down in an otherwise Sirius and Siriusly Epic chapter (that doesn't count), you get a cookie. For all those who don't PM me for clarification.**

**Fen Dweller: I must admit that the last chapter had problems (and in my own defence I wrote most of it at one in the morning), and I shall reply to your grievances, as they are fairly stated: One, Aragorn was swept downstream, and was already underwater, making him very hard to find. Two, Theoden doesn't know how close Saruman is to Helm's Deep and wants to get all his military assets behind the walls ASAP, and is pretty stubborn by nature, as well as wary of someone like Harry being undirected and particularly volatile. Harry isn't being particularly rational as he is one, very close to Aragorn, more than a little psychologically damaged by several years of constant warfare far from home, not to mention his troubles beforehand, and he's angry enough that he just wants to lash out. He is also tainted by more than a fragment of darkness, as shown by the temptation of the Ring, and his overriding motive is to keep his friends safe. Basically, Theoden pushed all the wrong buttons at just the wrong time. The outburst horrifies him because Voldemort is characterised by is lack of love and empathy, being willing to kill loyal servants on a whim and regarding all lives as expendable. Killing those around him in a place he loved (the first opening of the chamber of secrets, Moaning Myrtle) pretty much because they were there is an example of this. **

**Emrys belted him over the head because he is one of the few who is not particularly emotionally connected to Harry (grateful to him for saving his life, but doesn't know him all that well) but knows exactly how dangerous he is, and has a knack for sneaking up on people. Finally, he takes his duties seriously.**

**The railroading characters into canon part was a massive faux pas on my part, for which I apologize. I was simply trying to avoid the God Mode Sue Harry that plagues crossovers.**

Everyone was arming themselves, men and boys, a draft of a few hundred civilians against thousands of blood crazed Uruk Hai. The only professional soldiers were the King's guardsmen and the Fellowship. Most of the drafted wore chain mail that was too big for them, or too small, wielded weapons that were long past their best days, causing Harry to feel vaguely guilty when he pulled on his Gryffindor surcoat and winged helmet, the emerald set in the centre flashing in the torchlight, then buckled the sword of Gryffindor, a sword almost akin to Anduril in strength, to his belt. Harry sighed. Earlier, he had seen Aragorn testing Hama's son's blade, a notched but still sharp instrument of death, and talking to its owner, a boy of 16 at most. Even with the best equipment, hundreds would die. Harry pushed it out of his mind. He had enough things to think about, even if by common consent, his near vaporisation of Théoden had been forgiven and forgotten, and was never going to be spoken of again, as it was judged that such a rage was unlikely to reappear. This hadn't stopped Eowyn from scolding him about not stabling his horse, a scolding he took with reluctant good grace.

As he wandered into the armoury, he heard Aragorn yell at Legolas, "Then I will die as one of them!"

"None but Uruk's will die if I have my way. And I intend to. The fortress is warded, enough to frustrate any arrows they fire and slow their advance, and while they do… I will unleash my fury upon them." Harry said confidently, trying to mitigate the damage to morale caused by Aragorn's pronouncement and Legolas' resigned expression, glaring at both of them. A ragged cheer passed through those being armed and soon they dispersed to their posts, leaving the Fellowship. Harry cast around for Gimli, and as he was about to ask his whereabouts, the Dwarf shuffled into view, wearing what looked like an oversized chainmail dress. Laughter bubbled up in Harry's throat, but he ruthlessly strangled it, judging correctly from Gimli's vaguely homicidal expression that laughter would be a serious mistake.

"It's a little tight across the chest." Gimli said gruffly, daring anyone to disagree. At that moment, a deep horn call echoed across the keep.

"That is no Orc horn!" Legolas said, running to the fortress walls, Aragorn following, Gimli trying to remove the chain mail and cursing. They met Harry there, the latter having apparated to the wall, and was now nonchalantly leaning against it.

"It looks Galadriel has sent crack squad of decorators. She must have heard about the poor aesthetics of the fortress and decided it must be cleaned up as soon as possible." Harry said cheerily, garnering odd looks from those on the walls.

"Are you quite finished with your babblings, Harry? Or shall I wait until you think of something else to ramble on about?" A sarcastic and familiar voice came from down by the gate.

"Haldir!" Aragorn cried happily. "Open the gates. Now." He ordered curtly.

The Galadhrim force marched through the gates in perfect time, armour intricate yet strong, beautiful yet practical, much like the unworldly creatures that wore it. The Rohirrim gazed in awe at these creatures of legend, stepping out of fairytales to aid them in their darkest hour.

Théoden climbed down the steps, Boromir and Theodred following him, as disbelieving as his soldiers, to greet this unlooked for assistance.

"What is this?" He asked, disoriented.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together." Haldir said calmly, then looked up as Aragorn, Harry and Legolas came running down the stairs. Looking at Aragorn, he finished, "We come to honour that allegiance."

"_Mae Govannen!_" Aragorn said, pulling Haldir into a hug. Harry snickered as Haldir looked distinctly surprised, then happy as he leaned into the hug. "You are most welcome." Aragorn said, smiling.

"Haldir. It is good to see you my friend." Harry said, clasping forearms, as did Legolas.

"You are most welcome, Lord Haldir." Theodred said formally, bowing slightly, Boromir following suit. Haldir returned the bows, and the Lothlorien archers turned in perfect sync and grounded their bows, now facing Théoden.

"We are proud to fight alongside men once again." Haldir said sincerely.

Théoden, Boromir, Aragorn, Haldir and Theodred thrashed out the positioning and soon the defenders were ready. The elves had been placed on the Deeping wall to provide maximum space for their superior archery, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli with them. Harry had proudly present several dozen enormous sheaf's of arrows that he had taken the time to duplicate, as well as having disappeared to cast some more wards. He had been placed with the commanders, being regarded as the most powerful force on the battlefield, and thus to be used as a hammer, breaking any serious Uruk attacks and raining destruction on the opposing army.

The fortress was utterly silent, save for the occasional creak of wood and clank of metal, as the defenders looked out over the bottleneck valley that was steadily being filled by thousands of Uruk-Hai, all carrying torches to light their way, creating the effect of a sea of light.

Harry smiled slightly as he saw Gimli vainly trying to see over, and briefly considered levitating him, before dismissing the idea. Then lightning flashed, thunder cracked and it began to rain. None moved, but Théoden cast a brief despairing look at the skies, while Harry sulked. He had never liked rain much. The Uruk's marched up to the within one hundred yards of the walls, then began beating their spears against the ground. Harry reached for the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor, but was stopped by Boromir, who whispered, "Not yet."

Following some unseen cue, the archers set arrows to their bows and drew. The tableau of noisy Uruk's and silent defenders continued until an arrow leapt from the walls, hissing through the air and landing in the neck of an Uruk.

"Hold!" Aragorn barked belatedly, as the Uruk's went silent. Then they began to snarl and bellow, and a roar from their leader sent them charging against the defences.

"So it begins," Théoden said quietly. Aragorn yelled in Sindarin, ordering the elves to aim and fire, which they did, bringing down many Uruk's. Then Harry's wards came into effect. The first Uruk's running forward were turned to dust as the crossed a suddenly visible ethereal barrier. Théoden turned to Harry who grinned like a wolf.

"The Uruk's are extensions of Saruman's will as much as anything else, so that ward will eventually come down." Harry shrugged. "I have others. I recommend you save the arrows until then."

Théoden nodded. "Tell them to hold fire."

"HOLD FIRE!" Gamling bellowed, and the order could be heard being relayed across the fortress.

"How long will it last?" Boromir asked, ever the pragmatic.

"An hour and half at least. More, if they pull back. You can tell the men to stand down and get some food, relax a little." Harry replied.

"How do you know if it will last that long?" Theoden asked cautiously.

In response Harry tapped the emerald set in his helmet, which was glowing slightly. "This turns out to be a powerful channel for defensive magic. I can monitor the enchantment and give maybe 15 minutes of warning for when it's about to collapse."

Théoden glanced at his son and Boromir, both of whom nodded. "Send the order to stand down." Both nodded, and went to find a couple of runners.

"Thank you Harry." Théoden said.

"Hmm?" Harry said, gaze focused on the army.

"For everything you've done. You helped free my mind, save my people. You even saved my son! I feel as if I have not thanked you enough." The King said awkwardly.

"You're welcome; Théoden, but Gandalf and Aragorn did a lot of what you mentioned. And after… that incident, I think we happen to be even on that score." Harry replied, looking at the King briefly before scanning the army that continued to throw itself against the deadly forcefield around the fortress.

Theoden nodded, and just before he turned away to confer with the returning Theodred and Boromir, he saw Harry close his eyes briefly and pinch his nose. Harry opened his eyes, caught him looking, and said simply, "No power comes for free," before looking back at the Uruk army.

Two hours later, the Rohirric and elven soldiers were mixing and laughing, even if their jollity was somewhat strained, Harry suddenly staggered against the wall, cursing. The Uruk's had paused briefly in their charges, then continued with greater ferocity, but the shield had held, and a large pile of dust had formed along the edge of it.

"Tell them to get back to their positions." Harry muttered.

Theodred turned to look at him, and asked, "what?"

"NOW!" Harry snarled, clearly in a large amount of pain, sweat running down his face, and the pale blue dome flickered briefly. Theodred paled, and started bellowing orders. The shield flickered once more, and Harry's nose began to bleed.

10 minutes later, everyone was back in position and Harry let the forcefield drop with a grunt of effort. The Uruk's roared, and charged at the fortress walls again, wading carelessly through the disintegrated remains of their comrades, only to be caught by another shield. This one slowed them to a crawl as the passed through it, and Boromir quickly bellowed, "Fire!"

Arrows rained down upon the slowed Uruk's, slaughter them by the dozen. But still they kept coming. This ward, not maintained by Harry, soon ran out, and the Uruk's reached the walls, and began setting up siege ladders.

Not much later, the battle raged below, like a boiling sea of blood and steel, breaking upon the walls of Helm's Deep. The sheer number of Uruk's had eventually dimmed most of the wards against physical intrusion, but the arrow wards still held, Uruk crossbow bolts, siege bows and arrows breaking upon the wards. Harry now stood with Théoden and Boromir, ready to sweep down and strengthen the defences where they were getting weak.

So far he had only had to intervene once, when a berserker temporarily broke through the lines, and Harry had needed any prompting as he fired a stunning spell at it, cutting down one of its fellows with a well-timed slash of the sword of Gryffindor. He ached to go down and fight on the walls, but knew that if he did, he would be unable to prevent the Uruk's breaking through elsewhere. So he stood and watched, contenting himself with occasionally firing off spells that affected large areas, such as levitating the siege ladders and sending them spinning through tightly packed army like Hell's own spinning tops, carving a path of maimed bodies and corpses, or blasting them with streams of flame worthy of any self-respecting dragon.

When the battle had begun, Harry had cast a slightly irritated look at the skies, and wrested control of them with a few minutes effort, then began to direct enormous awe inspiring lightning bolts at the Uruk's, who could only have been better lightning conductors if they had been made of copper. The bolts carved massive gouges in the earth and killed any Uruk that had the misfortune to be too close, either through electrical shock or the common or garden shock felt by all species when something immense and lethal passes close by. Any fulminologist around would have noted that they were positive lightning bolts, unusual, and especially large and powerful. Not that anyone, particularly Harry, would have particularly cared, merely seeing it as a massive and magically enhanced electrical storm that was making vast inroads in the Uruk army. Survival is generally considered elder to scientific study.

Suddenly a cry went up. "Dwimmerlaik!" and then, "Nazgul!"

Harry paused in his electrifying display looked through the rain, and saw something that made his heart stop. They weren't the Nine, that at least he could be thankful for. They were Dementors. Thousands, streaming down towards the fortress in a river of darkness and despair. A voice was yelling the word 'No' over and over again, and with some surprise he realised it was his own.

"What are they?" Boromir asked crisply, with the precision of a military commander looking to compensate for an unexpected change in the battle.

"Dementors. Creatures that feed on happiness and souls. Monsters from my world, like the 9. How did they get here?" Harry said, anguished.

"Is there any way of stopping them before they break the defences?"

"How, it shouldn't be possible…" Harry mumbled, clearly out of it.

Boromir grabbed him by his armour and snapped, "How do we stop them?"

Harry shook his head, blinked and said, "There is one spell, but I have never used it against so many."

"Try it, now, they are already too close for comfort." Boromir said urgently, looking at the horde of Dementors that was steadily closing the distance to the fortress. As they passed, the Uruks roared and attacked with even greater ferocity, buoyed by the evil that settled over the battlefield in a great cloud.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry barked, but nothing but a wisp of silver appeared. He tried again to the same lack of effect. And again. The Dementors were closing in. Suddenly, the Sword of Gryffindor began to glow with a gold and crimson light tinged with silver. Almost dreamily he drew it, and crossed his sword and wand in an x shape, light washing off the sword and encasing him like armour.

"What is he doing?" muttered Théoden in a worried voice. Before Boromir could reply, what Harry was doing became apparent.

In a basso bellow that shook the fortress, Harry spoke with a voice not his own. "_**EXPECTO PATRONUM!**_" The sword and wand flared into incandescent light, and just as the Dementors reached the fortress, an enormous lion issued from the centre of the light. The creature was silver, with bright golden-red eyes, with a flowing mane and claws of the same colour, and it snarled, then charged the Dementors, thrashing its paws right and left and the Dementors fled before its light. Joy and hope filled all who looked upon it, and the Uruk's cowered in terror as the mighty spectral creature passed overhead, roaring defiance and chasing the Dementors far from the battle, then returned to its caster who patted its gigantic flank absently. Soon the creature dissipated, leaving behind a lingering sense of bravery and hope in all who fought to defend the fortress.

Harry turned, and smiled, still glowing. Then he bowed deeply from the waist, and said in that same voice, "_**Hail Théoden son of Thengel, King of Rohan, and hail Boromir son of Denethor, Captain General of Gondor.**_"

"We are most grateful for your assistance, but may I ask who you are?" Boromir said quietly, unsure as to what, let alone who, he was speaking to.

"_**A fair question that deserves a fair answer.**_" The being that was possessing Harry said with a chuckle.__"_**I am the spirit Godric Gryffindor, original owner of this sword, and ancestor of Harry, whose body I am temporarily possessing. But have you forgotten me so soon Lord Boromir?**_" The spirit asked with a twinkle in his borrowed eyes. And as he said that, an image appeared, of a tall and powerfully built man with dark red hair in the armour of a Rohirric cavalryman, wielding an enormous war hammer.

Boromir's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and as he started to stutter, with the words 'you' and, 'how' figuring greatly. Godric raised Harry's arm, a gesture which the image mirrored and spoke gently, "_**I do not have long in this world, but I will say this. Though my time with the body you knew was short, earned in service to the Valar, I do not blame you, and never have, for failing in battle. It was not your fault, and even if I blamed you, the actions you have taken on behalf of my family - both my non-magical family here and Harry - have more than made up for it.**_"__

"Why and how did you come?" Théoden said, taking up the line of inquiry while Boromir was too shocked to do anything but stagger against the fortress wall. He had vaguely known the man who had proven to be Godric Gryffindor in life, and had assigned him to look after Boromir, but he had not associated much with him, other than admiration for his martial abilities and patience with the young and impetuous Boromir, and sorrow for his death which had affected Boromir so deeply.

"_**My descendant unconsciously sent out a call for help, and with the assistance of the Valar, I answered from the Halls of Waiting, where I had resided under the care of the Lord Namo. He will need sleep, for I fear I have overworked him. When he wakes, tell him that I, his parents, and all his ancestors are proud of him.**_"

And with a sigh Harry's eyes rolled up into the back of his head as the spirit of his ancestor left his body to finally pass beyond the circles of the world, and he collapsed, Boromir leaping forward to catch him having finally regained some measure of his composure.

"Horselords…" Théoden breathed. "I did not know that he possessed such power. Or that such things were even possible."

"Great power or no, he was not ready to wield it." Boromir muttered automatically, still in shock, as Harry went pale as milk and began to shiver as if suddenly bathed in ice. Boromir swore and beckoned two of Théoden's guards.

"Take him to the caves, and wrap him up warmly. Guard him and if the fortress is taken, take him to Gondor. He is one of the few who could possibly have a chance of standing against both Saruman and Sauron if Rohan falls. Go, now!" The two guards nodded and carried Harry down into the inner keep towards the caves.

"Do you truly think we will fall here?" Théoden asked, already knowing the answer. Boromir cast a professional eye over the battlefield. The Fellowship and the Lothlorien elves were holding the wall on the far right and appeared to have no problems whatsoever, though they would need some reinforcement soon. The centre and the left were holding fast, at least for now.

"If nothing different happens, and Gandalf manages to find reinforcements, we will hold. If that happens or Harry recovers before the afternoon, we will survive. Curse Saruman! Those creatures may have been from Harry's world, but they were sent by him. He must have known that either we would fall or Harry would be rendered incapable of fighting for some time. If those creatures had not been sent, we could have held out indefinitely. As it is, we just have to hope Saruman has no more nasty surprises up his wizard's sleeve." Boromir said.

5 minutes later, as if to spite him, the Deeping Wall exploded.

**The Caves of Aglarond under Helm's Deep**

Eowyn looked up, her sword sharpened and ready to taste Orc blood. There it was again, a clatter of armour on stone. Swiftly and silently she slipped to the cave wall beside the entrance and motioned all the women and children to be silent as she listened carefully. More than one… and they sound like they were carrying something heavy. She closed her eyes and laid the cold, harsh flat of her sword against her face and prayed. Please. One word, but with a whole world of meaning. Her attack would have to be fast, and without hesitation. She took a deep breath, and as the two armoured creatures came round the corner, whipped her blade across at eyelevel, then seeing a flash of green cloth, stopped, just before she took out the eye of a thoroughly terrified guardsman who was currently breathing very fast and hoping that the Lady Eowyn would be so kind as to _not _kill him or blind him.

Looking at the burden they carried, Eowyn frowned, lowering her sword to the guardsman's intense relief. It, or rather he, looked distinctly familiar. She lifted the figure's face up into the half-light and gasped. It was Harry, who was clearly unconscious, but just as obviously unwounded.

"What happened?" she asked sharply, forcing all her inherited authority as Shieldmaiden of Rohan into six syllables.

"It was very strange milady." One of them, a gruff veteran with a greying beard began, and looked at the other, a younger man, tall, powerful and inexperienced, for confirmation, who merely nodded vigorously, either unable or not trusting himself to speak.

"What was?" Eowyn said impatiently.

"…Well milady, we were holding the wall, and Lord Potter was standing by the King and Lord Boromir, flying into help out a section of the wall when it needed it and launching fire like a dragon and massive lightning bolts at the enemy. Sort of a one man reserve army." Eowyn nodded, impatiently motioning him to continue.

"Everything was going as well as you could expect, until…" here the guardsman shivered.

"Things. Terrible things. Like the old tales of the Dwimmerlaik come to life, but there were thousands! I felt like I'd never be happy again." His co-worker replied, having regained control of his voice.

"Lord Potter looked like he was panicking, and well, if someone that powerful is that scared, how bad could they be? Lord Boromir shook him out of it and asked how they could be beaten. Lord Potter said he didn't know, but then something happened. Something strange, stranger than usual I mean. He had tried a spell, Expecto something, but it didn't do anything. Then his sword started glowing, gold and red, and he drew it and crossed his wand and sword. Then he tried the spell again, but…"

"Yes?" Eowyn said.

"It wasn't him milady. It was his body, his wand, but someone else's voice. The spell worked, and an enormous… creature, the same one that's his symbol, came rushing out of his wand, chasing off the wraith creatures. As it passed, everyone just felt happy, brave and hopeful. Then it, the voice, spoke to the King and Lord Boromir, and then, and I'll never forget this as long as I live, he projected an image of a dead member of the King's Guard, one who had looked after Lord Boromir when he came to Rohan to learn cavalry fighting from the best. I served alongside him when I was little more than a boy. He also said he was Harry's ancestor and had earned a second life in this world as Guardsman Thor or something strange like that. I didn't catch the rest of it, but he said to look after him and let him rest, and afterwards he collapsed. Then Lord Boromir told us to take him to the cave, guard him and wrap him up warm."

Eowyn nodded dazedly, and resolved to get the full story later on. "You two go back up. They'll need every soldier they can get."

"But milady what if-"

"If the Uruk army gets down here, we're all as good as dead anyway. And don't forget that I could have killed you both earlier, and I doubt that the average prowling Uruk would be more dangerous than two members of the King's guard. Go!" Eowyn ordered. The two Guards exchanged looks, and then saluted and made their way back up the tunnel while Eowyn set about making Harry comfortable.

Once she had done that, she left him in the care of a member of the Royal household and held her sword in a low guard. Anything that came down the tunnel would face the wrath of the Shieldmaiden of Rohan.

It was at that point that the caves were rocked by the detonation of Saruman's bomb.

**The Battlefield**

Boromir stood stock still for a moment, as the entire fortress froze, shocked. Nothing like this had ever happened in Middle Earth. Then Boromir shook himself, swore horribly, then drew his sword, crying, "Rohan, soldiers of Rohan to me! To the breach, defend the breach!"

Théoden who had also frozen, turned and snapped to his guards, "Go with him, he'll need every man." And elf, and dwarf, he added silently.

Soon a muddy, violent and harsh brawl erupted in the breach, Gimli valiantly trying to rebuild at least part of the breach to stem the tide of blood maddened Uruk-Hai, while the remains of the stalwart Lothlorien archers and Aragorn held the breach. Legolas, currently in a miniature hurricanes eye of the battle, cast a look around the battle field. Harry wasn't there. He wasn't up at the commander's outpost watching the battle, nor was he flying and causing chaos.

Boromir was joining the fray below with a large portion of the King's guard and whoever else he could grab in a matter of moments, slowing the Uruk drive enough for Gimli to rebuild enough of the breach to grant some respite.

"Where is Harry?" Aragorn asked, "We could really do with some help right now."

"Collapsed and insensate." Boromir said grimly, "And likely to stay that way for some time."

Aragorn swore viciously. Boromir raised his eyebrows. Aragorn normally never swore. The last time he had let loose his emotions was when they had found the burned pile of Uruk carcasses.

"How?" Aragorn asked, having reined in his temper.

"It was then those… things flew over. Thousands of them, like the Nazgul but weaker. Harry was panicking, Dementors he called them." Aragorn winced.

"I take it you've heard of them." Boromir said dryly.

"They're the reason he used to hunt the Nine on his own." Aragorn said. Boromir raised his eyebrows. This was a line of enquiry he would have to follow later on.

"Anyway, something happened. He tried a spell to fend them off, which failed. Then… it was that sword of his, I'd bet my life on it. He drew it and crossed his sword and wand, then started to glow. Then, well you probably heard him, and saw what happened next."

"It was a wee bit difficult to miss, laddie," Gimli said dryly. "Half the soldiers think Harry is some sort of incarnation of the one they call Béma."

"I'm sure Gandalf while find that hilarious. He has never been mistaken for one of the Valar." Haldir said with a smile, having organised his remaining troops into a defensive line. Now there was something new to tease Harry with, if they all survived the battle.

"Except it wasn't him. It was his ancestor and original owner of the sword." Boromir blinked away a something that of course since he was a macho soldier, wasn't a tear. "And also the man who I failed to save from the wargs in Rohan." Aragorn, looking bemused but concerned, remembering Boromir's tale, gripped Boromir's shoulder in sympathy.

"He said he forgave me, and had never blamed me. He said he couldn't after what I had done for his non-magical family. He also said to tell Harry he was proud of him and warned us that Harry was on the verge of collapse, and then he left, causing Harry to collapse. I sent him down to the caves, where he is under guard and the guards are under orders to take him to Gondor if the fortress falls." Boromir said flatly.

"Let's hope that doesn't happen." Aragorn said grimly. Despite the partially rebuilt wall, wave after wave of Uruks crashed against the defences, slowly forcing them to give ground. Aragorn and Boromir stood back to back in a dance of death, not nearly so graceful as Legolas, but just as deadly, and even the apparently fearless Uruks began to move around them. Legolas was making use of his magically enlarged and very full quiver, firing arrows at a phenomenal rate, each one finding their target. But still the Uruk's came.

As Legolas and another elf dragged Gimli away with some difficulty, a little voice in his head said, _look up. Behind you._

He turned and looked up. An Uruk was about to deal Haldir a mortal blow. Legolas drew his bow string back, dropping Gimli, aimed and fired all in one smooth motion. The Uruk collapsed with a gurgle, and Haldir turned, then looked down seeing his saviour. He saluted with his sabre, a salute Legolas returned with a nod, then followed them down the stairs.

"What did you do that for elf?" Gimli grumbled, now thoroughly muddy.

"Saving Marchwardens is more important than you staying clean. Harry can clean you up later." Legolas said dryly, ignoring the unspoken 'if he wakes up ever or before we all get slaughtered'.

Gimli looked up and saw Haldir descending the stairs. "And how did you know he was in danger?"

"In case you hadn't noticed my diminutive friend, this is a battle. Everyone is in danger." Legolas said sarcastically, covering his own confusion. He had heard a little voice in his head and acted on it without query. It wasn't the forces of darkness; they would have made him shoot a friend. So it had to have been someone with the talent of far speaking. Only potentially Harry, who was unconscious in any case, the Lord Elrond, the Lady Galadriel could be included. Any others with the far speaking ability were too far away and had limited range on their power, unless Mithrandir was much closer than they expected. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. This was something he could worry about later.

**A/N: IMPORTANT: THE LION IS **_**GODRIC GRYFFINDOR'S **_** PATRONUS. NOT HARRY'S.**

**What can I say? I'm a Norse mythology geek and I left enough clues as to the name earlier. Also, from what I've heard about Godric Gryffindor makes him sound a lot like the Thor of legend, though possibly a bit nicer. Aside from the name there's nothing special involved though. **


	23. Chapter 23: Battle Ends, to Isengard

**A/N: Biggest. Chapter. **_**Ever**_**. **

**In which Helm's Deep is won, Sirius makes his appearance, Emrys has a nice surprise, Wormtongue is frequently terrified and Harry completely curbstomps Saruman, among other awesome and dark moments, and a crap load of action and violence.**

Despite the bravery and ferocity of the defenders, they were forced back by sheer numbers, and soon the banner of the White hand was being raised everywhere but the inner keep, where the last forces of Rohan huddled and waited for the end.

And below in the caves of Aglarond, a pair of bright green eyes snapped open. Eowyn jumped slightly as Harry went from comatose and deathly cold to awake, healthy and raring to go in 2 seconds flat.

"Harry, be careful! You've been out cold and near death for 3 hours!" Eowyn admonished, steadying him as he stumbled slightly. His eyes snapped up to her, and the intensity in them both scared her slightly and, as her breath caught, reminded her why she had once been deeply infatuated with him. Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, against her better judgement, had a thing for the mysterious, and was drawn to danger like a moth to a flame. Danger of all kinds.

So when Harry said, "I'm going up. They need me," she only nodded and said, "I'm coming with you."

He nodded curtly, then looked around at the wide audience of scared women and children. "Any women who want to fight are welcome to join me. I will not demand that any of you come, nor will I lie about battle. It is many things, but what is above all is unforgiving. One mistake and your guts will be strewn on the floor. But your country is on the line. Your grandfathers, fathers, uncles, husbands, brothers, cousins, sons and grandsons are all out there fighting for their country, but because of some damn stupid thinking, they seem to believe that women cannot fight. I know better. Many of the most dangerous people I ever fought against or alongside were women. I do not believe that women are like glass, to be put away on sign of danger and extremely fragile. Now, if you wish to show your menfolk and the enemy what the women of Rohan can do, you are welcome to come with me. What say you?"

There was a long silence, then first one woman stood, then the next, then the next. Soon, 150 women stood before him. Harry detailed 25 to cover the retreat if necessary and protect the children. The rest collected weapons from a small cache by the entrance to the inner keep.

Harry rolled his shoulders and led his impromptu army into the inner keep, intercepting a messenger sent to send the women and children on their way, and telling him to pass the message on.

"If any of you want to turn back, do so now. It is your last chance." Harry said. None stepped out of line. He smiled slightly, and continued walking.

Theodred turned as he heard the sound of feet behind him and half had his hand on his sword before he saw Harry.

"Ah, Harry you've recovered. Just in time, the party's really getting started." He said, more than a little black humour in his voice.

Harry flashed a quick smile back at him. "And I brought reinforcements." He paused to beckon down the passage from the caves.

Eowyn came first, then the other women followed all slightly awkwardly. Theodred's jaw dropped.

"Eowyn…"

"Say nothing, cousin. This is my country too, and I am going to fight for it." She said calmly, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Théoden, Theodred, Aragorn and Boromir who had been conferring, while Legolas fired the occasional arrow through the holes in the door, all turned.

"Before you lot say anything, I told these ladies about the dangers of battle, and chose volunteers only. You drafted boys and old men, why not let the women fight?"

"The rest, maybe, we could do with every ablebodied soldier. Not Eowyn. It's too dangerous." Theodred said stubbornly.

"Cousin, I can best you in every 2 of every 4 bouts we ever fought. On that logic, you would not fight yourself." Eowyn said exasperatedly.

Theodred glared, and Théoden said, "Your cousin is right Eowyn. If we all die, nothing will be left of the royal line of Rohan. I will not allow it."

"If we all die, nothing will be left of Rohan. Nothing will be left of Middle Earth either. Saruman will raze the land and march on Gondor." Harry observed. Théoden opened his mouth to cut across him, but Harry overrode him ruthlessly. "Gondor will be caught between the unchecked might of the two towers and be destroyed. Then Sauron and Saruman will turn on the Elven realms, which will eventually fall under the relentless onslaught. Then the Shire. Then my world will be next. It will take longer, for it is far larger and in many ways more advanced in weapons of war, but it will fall nonetheless and both worlds will be covered in an endless shadow. This is where history is written, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is where the fate of two worlds will be decided. And I am _damned_ if I am going to let you indulge your overprotectiveness, Lord King, not when the fate of this world, let alone my world, is on the line."

Théoden opened his mouth once or twice, then sighed.

Aragorn meanwhile was looking at the ray of sunlight streaming through one of the arrow slits. He turned and said, every inch the inspiring Warrior-King, "Ride out." Théoden turned to him.

"Ride out and meet them." Aragorn said persuasively.

"For Death and Glory." Theoden said.

"Finally we do what we suggested in the first place. And I'd prefer to avoid Death, if that's all the same with you." Harry whispered to Eowyn, who concealed snorts.

"For Rohan." Aragorn said, the King he would become shining through. "For your people."

"The Sun is rising." Gimli noted.

"Yes. Yes." Theoden said, coming to a decision, pacing, his voice rising to majestic clarion call of command. "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep…" Theoden turned back to Aragorn. This, Harry thought, not any amount of pomp and ceremony, was what made Royalty who they were. The sort of people you would follow into a breach, on a suicidal charge with nary a qualm. "…one last time."

"YES!" Gimli said, shaking his axe and running off to find the aforesaid Horn. Others were sent to find the large amount of horses stabled below.

Theoden clapped his hand on Aragorn's shoulder and said quietly, "Let this be the hour, when we draw swords together again, Captain Thorongil." Three jaws promptly hit the floor.

"Captain Thorongil? The Legendary Captain Thorongil? The one who served Steward Ecthelion and King Thengel with distinction?" Eowyn asked, shocked. The one she loved was now about twice as old as she had thought he was, though funnily enough, it added a certain charm.

"The one who burnt the Black Numenorean fleet at Umbar? The one who pioneered the Ithilien Ranger companies?" Theodred asked, flabbergasted.

Boromir turned to Harry who was whistling innocently. "Any you _knew_?" He asked incredulously.

"I was once he. I shall explain later." Aragorn said, as the horses were brought. "If there is a later." He added under his breath. Harry mounted his broom, politely refusing a horse. Many of the rag tag force were mounted two to a horse, but somehow, that didn't matter.

"Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn!" Theoden said, caught up in the excitement of battle as he rammed on his helmet. Aragorn drew his sword, and Harry slipped his helmet on.

Gimli, having reached the Horn, blew on it, causing one massive, and vaguely flatulent sound to echo over the deep. And like the Dunlendings in the great winter siege, the Uruk's soon knew to fear that sound. The doors broke, and everyone drew their swords and Theoden cried, "FORTH EORLINGAS!"

The Horn sounded again is with a roar, the remains of Rohan charged, galloping down the ramp, ploughing through Uruk's, as Harry shot out the Fortress like a cork from a bottle, firing blasting curses at the army and a slicing through many with the sword of Gryffindor, which flashed in the morning light.

Aragorn looked up at the top of the hill, and saw a white rider on a white horse, rearing in the dawn.

"Gandalf." he breathed. Harry shot over his head, firing another massive burst of fire to ward off more Uruks as he raced to greet Gandalf.

"Gandalf. If you had been any later, you'd have missed all the fun." Harry said, as Eomer trotted up behind Gandalf.

"Hello Harry." Gandalf said with a resigned smile. Both armies were looking up into the sun and at Gandalf, who then spoke to Eomer, who nodded at Harry in greeting.

"Théoden King stands alone."

"Not alone." Eomer said, drawing his sword with a metallic rasp.

"Rohirrim!" He called, and his eored with added reinforcements formed up behind him.

"Eomer." Theoden and Theodred said at the same time, smiling. Eowyn grinned to see her brother, then hacked at a particularly persistent Uruk.

"FOR THE KING!" Eomer cried, and his war cry was echoed by his troops as they began to charge down the steep hill, Gandalf enhancing the sunlight to blind the Uruk's who were forming. Harry, seeing Gandalf's plan, raced ahead pouring every fragment of speed he could muster into his broom and formed a large wedge shaped barrier ahead of him. Even magic must do business with the laws of Physics every now and then, and Harry hit the Uruk's like a hammer, shattering their defensive line with one massive blow, leaving massive gaps for the reinforcements to exploit.

The Uruk's were soon routed, and what was left charged into… a forest. A forest that had not been their when Harry had last looked. A forest that Eomer was warning the pursuing forces to stay away from. Seemingly, a large part of Fangorn had decided to up and move, and was now exacting a violent revenge on its tormentors. It reminded Harry vaguely of Macbeth.

"I am _never_ looking at trees the same way again." Harry commented to Legolas.

Legolas replied casually, "All you young ones are the same. Orcs? Uruks? Easy. When the forest makes itself felt, you must resist the desire to soil your breeches. Isn't that so Master Dwarf?" He said, looking at Gimli.

"I won that match elf. You had 42, I had 43."

"Harry, please explain to the sadly mistaken dwarf why this is not true." Legolas appealed.

"Gimli, I'm sorry to say this, but Legolas' right. You didn't win." Harry said sorrowfully, and as Legolas was about to start gloating, he said brightly, "I did. I killed at least two and a half thousand." Legolas looked taken aback while Gimli stuttered incoherently.

The clean-up operation was in full swing. Foul smelling piles of Uruk's were burning, whilst Eomer was reading terms to the remaining Dunlendings that had fought for Saruman, with Emrys standing by him to translate. The Dunlendings themselves were puzzled and mistrustful of the terms until Emrys lost his temper and let loose with a vast torrent of angry and vaguely obscene sounding words in his mother tongue, occasionally gesticulating at Eomer to emphasise his point. After he had finished, they bowed clumsily in thanks to Eomer, and were escorted out of the valley.

The women and children were being sent back to Edoras, Eowyn with them. She had protested, saying that she was just as capable a fighter. Harry had replied that, yes, this was true, but Saruman's enchanting voice was still a threat, and if she stayed she risked becoming like Théoden had. "And possessed and decrepit really isn't your look." Harry had finished, falsely earnest. "Besides, your cousin has to go because he is the heir, and your brother has to because he's about as good at dealing with civilians as I am at herding cats. Blindfolded. With both legs tied together."

Eowyn had snickered, and reluctantly accepted her charge, and the stream of refugees, guarded by most of the remaining soldiers and those Lothlorien archers who remained.

The rest made for Isengard, and stopped on the rise. Harry had, for reasons known only to himself, acquired a horse, which to Theodred and Eomer's disappointment, he hadn't fallen off for being too rusty.

"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his vengeance swift." Lightning crackled over the orange and black skies of Mordor, the sounds audible even from so far away. "The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The Battle for Middle Earth is about to begin." Gandalf said, his voice full of foreboding.

"Not before we, one, deal with Saruman, and two, I get a decent pint, it won't." Harry said firmly.

"Do you have any sense of occasion?" Boromir asked despairingly.

"Sense of occasion? What is this thing you speak of?" Harry said blankly.

"All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits. Somewhere in the wilderness." Gandalf said, steadfastly ignoring Harry.

The small group rode on, somewhat cautiously through the forest, Harry melodramatically handing his wand to Gandalf for the duration and saying, "I don't trust myself not accidentally set fire to something. And that would be bad." He added as the trees creaked threateningly. Everyone aside from Legolas and Gandalf looked distinctly ill at ease as they rode through, and Harry debated grabbing Boromir's shoulders suddenly, hoping to elicit a scream, but judged the likelihood of him immediately being stabbed was too high for his liking.

It took two days to reach Isengard, crossing the Fords of Isen, which caused Eomer, Theodred and Emrys to share a silent look. When they arrived, several things greeted their eyes.

First, a very particular pair of hobbits engaged in the traditional hobbit activities of smoking, eating and drinking. They whooped and laughed upon seeing the arriving group, and Merry stood and indicated the famous and partially drowned tower in the background. "_Welcome_, my _Lords_, to Isengard!"

"You young rascals!" Gimli said, all anger being feigned. Pippin waved in acknowledgement as smiles spread over the faces of the Fellowship. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find yer… feasting and, and, and… _Smoking_!"

"We are sitting, on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts." Pippin said archly, as his cousin smugly blew smoke rings. Gimli's mouth opened. "The salted pork is _particularly _good."

"Salted pork?" Gimli said, in strangled anticipation.

"Hobbits." Gandalf said, shaking his head slightly.

"They never change." Harry agreed with a wide grin.

"We're under orders. From Treebeard, whose taken over management of Isengard."

As they rode in, Merry spotted Harry and his surcoat. "Ah, Harry! You're wearing that armour at last! And are the young ladies flocking around you?" Merry said with a conspiratorial wink. Harry, still wearing his surcoat, though his helmet had been packed away revealing his tousled black hair, did something unexpected. He blushed. Bright red. "There's only one woman I want flocking around me." He mumbled indistinctly. Eomer, Theodred, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir all had devious smiles of one form or another on their faces, and Harry knew he was going to get the life teased out of him later.

Merry and Pippin just laughed triumphantly as the small procession moved into Isengard itself. Harry nearly jumped out of the saddle when a large walking tree came to greet them, one the Hobbits were apparently on first name terms with, introducing, it, no, him, as 'Treebeard.' And he was something called an 'Ent'.

"And I thought I'd seen everything." He drawled.

"Middle Earth is like the hobbits. You may learn their ways in a month, but a hundred years later they can still surprise you." Gandalf said with a smile.

"Ah, young master Gandalf." Treebeard said. Another thing about Ents, Harry thought, is that… they speak… really… slowly… "I am glad that you have come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a Wizard to manage here. Locked in his tower."

"And there Saruman must remain." Gandalf said. "Under your guard, Treebeard."

"Well, let's just have his head and been done with it." Gimli said.

"I like that idea. Dibs on removing it from his body." Harry said laconically, as the Rohirrim made various sounds of approval.

"No. He's no power anymore." Gandalf replied calmly.

"Good. His head will be easier to detach." Harry said grimly. "We showed no mercy to his creations, why the hell should we do the same for him? It certainly won't cause me any trouble sleeping at night. And here he comes now." Harry pointed, and indeed, a white figure had appeared on the roof of Isengard.

"I'm bringing him down." Harry said quietly. And before Gandalf could stop him, he dismounted, walked onto the steps of Isengard and disapparated.

"Hotheaded young fool." Gandalf muttered. When Aragorn gave him a curious look, he elaborated. "Even in this state, Saruman is not to be underestimated."

Gimli cheered, bellowing at the top of his voice, "Take him down laddie!"

"Make the bastard scream!" Theodred added venomously, garnering a surprised look from his cousin. Usually Theodred was the _less _intemperate one. Then, Saruman had ordered him murdered, enslaved his father's mind, tried to destroy his country and exiled his cousin.

When Harry reached the roof of Isengard, stumbling slightly in the winds, Saruman stood straighter. He looked much like Gandalf, or an evil Dumbledore, Harry thought distantly, with the one part of his mind that was not frantically running through incantations to defeat the fallen Maiar. But a lot neater and more austere, he decided firmly. Harry had an ingrained dislike of excessive neatness, one born during his life with the Dursley's, who were neat to a fault, one of the many things they had clashed with Harry on, Harry having inherently messy hair, and an almost messy demeanour. Harry knew, because he had been the one doing most of the cleaning.

It was Saruman who broke the silence. "So, the Wizard comes out from the Shadows at last. Long have I wanted to meet you _Moristar_." He said, in majestic tones, which hid his fear well. In this state, he was not sure if he could beat this opponent, and while he could rely on the forgiveness of Gandalf, he could not rely on his current foe's goodwill.

Harry knew the latter title to be one of the elvish languages, he forgot which, word for 'Black Wizard". Since he dressed almost exclusively in black, to match his hair, this was a fair title, he thought wryly.

Saruman continued. "I thought you were merely a poor trick of Gandalf's, an illusion or a rumour, but this was proved not to be so by our duel on Caradhras. Which you _lost_." The biting scorn would once have bothered Harry, but no more. He merely watched his opponent, who continued his poisonously honey laden speech, not knowing the thoughts that lay behind the façade.

"You have power beyond your own knowledge. And you do not know it yet. It is far greater than the power that old fool of a mentor professed you had, in your own land. _Love_. That most frivolous and wasted of emotions." Saruman spat this last in tones of absolute disgust, then returned to honeyed tones. "The power you foolishly rejected as dark would serve you far better. There is no good or evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

"Love was enough to defeat the last man who said those words, and his master. Those who understand love, consciously or not, have defeated you, and the forces of hatred you assembled against us." Harry retorted levelly.

"Ah, so you can speak after all." Saruman said, feigning surprise. "It is amazing how much he was like Gandalf, advising much, yet doing little, training the young and foolish to do his dirty work, fashioning ordinary people into weapons. I made the Uruk Hai and Albus Dumbledore made you." Saruman then continued, as if Harry had not spoken at all, rolling the unfamiliar syllables of Dumbledore's name around his mouth like a fine wine. "Albus, meaning White. A good name, that at least I will grant him."

Harry realised with a jolt Saruman had been rummaging around in his mind while he had been talking to him. Harry swore viciously under his breath. He shouldn't have let his guards be bypassed so easily.

While Harry was adjusting his mental guards, Saruman was considering his opponent further. He had lost much of his power in Gandalf's ascension, and he could overpower his foe, who appeared to have only become stronger. But many a battle could be won by guile instead of power, and while his young opponent was strong, he had absolutely no idea how much power he could potentially have, and was yet to come into his ordinary full strength. Which was all to the good, Saruman thought, maybe he would provoke him a little, as a test. From the little he had glimpsed, he knew he had the knowledge to do so. Or at least to barter his way out of trouble.

For he had seen a man in Harry's mind, one he was close to and had lost. One who was, as serendipity would have it, in his cells right now, and he was the one Gandalf had looked worried upon seeing. And while Saruman knew he held the ace, he would have to be careful not to enrage the young man into releasing his full power. That would be a disaster, and, loath though he was to admit it, the young man might be better versed in the art of combat magic, albeit a form very much different from that native to Arda.

As the two wizards pondered one another, Legolas slowly put an arrow to his bow, aiming it at Saruman, but Gandalf caught his eye and shook his head. He said quietly, "This is a battle our young friend needs, and wants, to fight by himself." He paused then added, "Especially if what I thought I saw in the dungeons of Isengard is true." Legolas held his bow in position for a few moments more than let it drop with a sigh, remembering what Gandalf had told him in the gardens of Rivendell. Gandalf was right. This was Harry's battle to fight, and Legolas suspected his young friend would take it ill if he interfered.

Meanwhile it transpired that Harry had lost his patience and a battle royal had commenced on the roof of Isengard, spells flying everywhere, and in the epicentre of the unprecedented magical battle, a massive bubble of energy, one half a resolute crimson flecked with gold and the other an ever changing variety of colours, that someone from Harry's world would probably identify as an oil slick that caught the sunlight, caused by the two different forms of magic colliding violently.

The spectators below shaded their eyes, the Rohirrim astounded and fearful at this display of raw supernatural power the likes of which they had never seen, and the Hobbits simply frightened for the sake of their friend. Boromir anxiously wandered over to Gandalf and Aragorn, both whom were very carefully not showing any outward emotion whatsoever.

"What is happening?" he asked, as the red half of the bubble pulsed suddenly, releasing a burst of energy, growing brighter. Without turning his head, Gandalf replied calmly, "Harry is fighting his own demons as much as he is fighting Saruman". And Boromir would have to be satisfied with that cryptic answer, as the set of Gandalf's face said what a thousand words could only begin to state. He was very emphatically saying nothing more.

On the roof of Isengard the sheer power of the battle was beginning to melt the stone of the roof. Saruman was worried, a most uncharacteristic feeling. He could feel his power waning as the young man opposite him showed no signs of weakening.

However Saruman was rightly renowned for his cunning, and was watching for a chink in his opponent's magical armour. There! With a roar he focused his power into one well aimed spell that got under Harry's guard, sending him flying off the roof. Merry and Pippin screamed as one, Aragorn gasped and Boromir swore horribly, using language that he must have learnt in a Gondorian barracks, while Gandalf was having flashbacks to his battle with the Balrog.

As Harry fell, he did something that none had expected. Even hundreds of feet below, the watchers heard him roar "Accio Firebolt!" and immediately afterwards saw the broomstick that he had used at the battle of Helms Deep and over the plains of Rohan rise up to meet its master, who caught it, scrambled on and directed it upward, hugging the side of the tower as he rose at a phenomenal rate, the spectators watching with wide eyes, none save Gandalf quite believing the evidence of their eyes, as their seemingly doomed companion had saved himself.

"So that's why he took a horse." Gandalf muttered with a smile. "Clever boy."

As Harry shot up the side of Isengard, he noted with surprise that Saruman's magic was different to the sort he had encountered in Middle Earth. It was more like his own in fact. Brushing the thought aside, he concentrated on a surprise attack. He could worry about Saruman's magic later, after he had defeated him.

One thing that confused him was that when Saruman had rifled through his mind, he had disregarded a basic rule of mental combat, never sacrifice your own defences to enhance your attack. While Harry had not been aware of Saruman's presence in his mind, a small piece of information had leaked through. An image of a large and vaguely familiar black dog snarling in a corner, warning off its tormentors. Harry shook his head, another thing to be contemplated later.

Just then Saruman made a mistake that chroniclers and historians studying the duel for centuries agreed was his most fatal error. He leaned over the edge of Isengard. To his credit, despite his shock he managed to launch a fire ball like the one he had launched earlier, except this one was larger, powered by fury and desperation. As it enveloped Harry, it was expected that the wizard was to plummet on the charred remains of his broomstick to his death.

Out of the raging flames emerged a glowing silver ball of energy, the sight of which caused Legolas, who could see it for what it was, Harry, to let out an explosive exclamation, "_Eru_!" and Gandalf to smile. Clearly their young friend was not seriously harmed, and judging by the brightness and power of the energy he wore like a cloak, Gandalf thought, absolutely furious. To his own surprise, Gandalf found himself pitying Saruman. A bolt of silver power hit Saruman, who seemed rooted to the spot, sending him flying out of the spectators sight on to the roof, Harry following him.

Saruman looked up at his opponent, who had landed on the roof of Isengard, and was now dismissing the energy which had wreathed him as he emerged from the flames, emanating from the Sword of Gyffindor. He wearing a fell look on his face, emphasised by the scorch marks on his clothes and minor burns he had sustained, but they didn't seem to bother him. Saruman reached for his staff, knowing in his heart of hearts that it would not avail him. This came to pass when Harry muttered a word that Saruman did not understand, and sent it spinning into the air. A split second later Harry said "Reducto", and a beam of orange light issued from his wand-sword, obliterating the staff, the remains of the energy disappearing as he did so.

"Saruman, your staff is broken and you are defeated." Harry stated in a deceptively flat tone, which managed to barely mask the sheer anger he felt, flicking his wand from which ropes issued, binding Saruman.

"I doubt the Rohirrim can forgive you, though Gandalf may persuade them to merely exile you." He continued in the same tone, regarding Saruman carefully. Even bound and gagged, a dark wizard of Saruman's ilk still bore careful watching.

Saruman breathed a mental sigh of relief. Gandalf, Grey or otherwise had always been stupidly merciful. Maybe he could yet turn this disaster to triumph. His nascent scheming was interrupted by Harry shoving him hard against one of the broad spikes of the roof of Isengard, emerald eyes suddenly alight with pure rage and put his wand to Saruman's throat.

"I am tired of fighting dark wizards like you, with pretensions to power you have no right to wield. The last Dark Wizard I fought I offered mercy, and I shall let Gandalf do the same to you. But if you do not explain why I saw an exceedingly familiar black dog in your head when you rummaged through mine, he won't get the chance." Harry paused, then snarled. "_Where. Is. Sirius. Black?"_

Saruman, still gagged, pointed downwards. Harry levitated him down into his main throne room, where he found Wormtongue, who had blood on his hands and was throwing something out the window. Human blood. He saw Harry and screamed, causing Harry to stun him as red mist clouded his vision. He struggled to control his anger, then turned and savagely ripped the ropes from Saruman's mouth and said harshly, "You will speak when spoken to, and only to answer questions. If you try any funny business, I'll make you tell me." Saruman nodded slowly.

"Where is he?"

"In the Dungeons, at the basement." Saruman replied sullenly.

"Excellent." Harry said, waking Wormtongue up and throwing him out the window, then grabbing Saruman and disapparating.

The rest watched as first a spherical object was thrown out of a window, then Wormtongue moments later, shrieking the whole way down. Harry arrived moments later, a disoriented Saruman firmly in his grip, ahead of Wormtongue, and waited until the last moment to stop the screaming man in mid-air, then dropping him in the water. Gandalf frowned slightly, while Eomer and Theodred wore identical satisfied smiles.

"Saruman is only still alive so long as he is useful. It turns out that he has been keeping someone I thought dead captive. The only difference is that if he helps me, his death will be swift. If not, it will be long, protracted, involve a rusty spoon and the Cruciatus curse. You can do with Wormtongue what you wish. " Harry said coldly, meeting Gandalf's gaze levelly.

Meanwhile, Emrys, who had insisted on accompanying Theodred, had dismounted and was advancing on Saruman with a homicidal expression on his face. Suddenly, he punched the fallen wizard square in the nose, which broke with a loud crunch.

"Where is my sister, you evil son of a bitch? She was one of the ones taken to this cursed place."

"Answer him." Harry said curtly, forcing Saruman's nose back into joint, causing the fallen Wizard to wince in pain.

"Also in the dungeons. If the Uruk's did not take her for their pleasure, then eat her, of course." Saruman said, malice in his voice, and got boxed around the ears for his trouble.

"Emrys, Saruman and I will go to the dungeons and release any captives. Keep an eye out for any nasty surprises." Harry said, striding towards the doors of Isengard.

"You don't have the keys, Harry." Gandalf said. In reply, Harry disintegrated the doors and walked in.

"Typical." Gandalf with a half smile. Wormtongue had resurfaced, spluttering, to the sight of Eomer's face less than a foot away, a Cheshire cat's grin spreading across his face. That is, if the Cheshire cat had had the sort of menace normally found in hungry lions.

"Hello again, Grima."

Wormtongue screamed. Again.

**Harry and Emrys**

Harry strode ahead, dragging Saruman roughly behind by his beard, causing the old wizard to stumble. As they descended deeper and deeper into the dungeons, most of which were empty, and all of which had the stains of dried blood. Any captives found were quickly released by blasting the lock off and told to go upstairs and out what was left of the doors. As the darkness grew, Harry lit the tip of his wand to light their way. Otherwise, nothing was said.

Towards the very bottom of the dungeons, Harry heard the sound of singing, a woman's voice in a language he recognised, but did not understand.

"That's the ballad of Tam Lin." Emrys said in a hushed voice. "My sister used to sing it to me." He dashed ahead, and indeed, it was his sister. Harry followed, and in the cell he saw a young woman, with the straggled parody of once beautiful brown hair, dirt and dried blood on her still pretty face, and a sudden wild, desperate hope in eyes the same shade as Emrys', now engaged in a frenetic conversation in the sing song language of the Dunlendings. Harry quickly blasted the lock off, and Emrys raced in, cradling the young woman who was now weeping with joy.

Harry looked briefly at Saruman, who was sneering, and said, "'And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.' A wise man once said that. A bit of a pity the book in which it was written also advocated killing Witches and Wizards, but nothing's perfect. And they are all sentiments you will never understand. And I pity you for it."

"Do not pity me, Moristar. With love comes pain, crippling, debilitating pain. Love destroys you young wizard, as sure as any poison, spell or sword. I would feel sorrow for you, but that too is a wasted emotion." Saruman replied coldly. Harry stared at him speculatively, then walked on to the last cell. In it was a hunched, painfully thin figure with a vast amount of thin, long and matted dark hair and beard, hands manacled. He shivered, blood running from new and old wounds and looked into the light with sunken eyes in a gaunt face.

"Harry?" Sirius said, his voice cracked. After that, Harry only remembered blasting off the lock, shattering the manacles, and running over to Sirius and hugging him tightly.

"Oh, Sirius, what have they done to you?" Harry asked, tears in his eyes.

"Hey, pup. Easy on these old bones. Mostly it was these small monsters, Orcs, then a pale man that reminded me of a cross between Snape and Wormtail. Vaguely batlike, but not remotely scary, just creepy." Sirius chuckled painfully and coughed. "It was done on the orders of that one over there, Saru-thingy. When I found myself in this world, he took me in. He treated me well at first, kept trying to get me to tell the secrets of my magic. When I worked out what he wanted to use it for, I told him where to get off and I've been locked down here ever since, tortured intermittently and with that bastard whispering constantly in my mind. Worse than the fucking Dementors. Only the singing of the girl a couple of cells down kept me sane. Oh, and nice armour."

"Heh. She's the sister of Prince Theodred's new bodyguard. He's the one who gave Saruman those bruises. Thanks, it's apparently an heirloom. I'll explain later." Harry said with a smile, helping Sirius painfully to his feet.

"Really?" Sirius asked, grinning.

Harry nodded happily as he helped Sirius out of the cell. "Slugged him right in the face."

"Emrys, bring your sister, we're leaving." Then his face darkened as he looked upon Saruman.

"_Stupefy_."

Eventually they reached the remains of the doors, and Harry divested Saruman of the binding ropes, woke him up, and threw him face first into the water.

"_Crucio_." He snarled. And Saruman screamed, thrashing in agony. It was the first time in a very long time that someone had hurt him in earnest.

"Harry…" Gandalf said, warningly.

"Gandalf, the man I'm holding up is my supposedly dead godfather, who has spent the last 6 or so years-"

"Seven. I was counting." Sirius muttered.

"Seven years of being tortured for the secrets of his magic. Some of it by Wormtongue, on his periodical visits to Isengard. He is also the reason I have a large hand shaped scar on my chest, and nearly died on Caradhras. Not to mention all that he has done to Rohan." Wormtongue, his face battered and bruised by Eomer, looked up, abject terror in his eyes. "So Gandalf, you can either help me in giving this bastard his due, or get the _fuck_ out of my way." Harry said, eyes blazing with fury, vision being obscured by a red mist of rage. He turned to Saruman again. "_Crucio. Crucio. Crucio!" _

The fallen White Wizard screamed and screamed and screamed a bit more. Then he began to laugh, to cackle madly. "Maybe you aren't as weak as I thought. Would that it had been you, not that wreck, who turned up on my doorstep. You would have made a fine apprentice and lieutenant, given time."

Harry's eyes widened, and he staggered back, the red mist retreating from his vision as quickly as it arrived.

"My God, what have I done?" He whispered, shocked. Boromir dismounted and Aragorn moved from the other ex-captives to check on Sirius and Emrys' unnamed sister. Boromir hugged the shocked and somewhat traumatised Harry, comforting him a little. Meanwhile, Emrys' sister was staring in wide eyed fear at Wormtongue, and whispering something in the language of the Dunlendings to her brother, who held her close, only reluctantly releasing her to Aragorn's care and whispering reassurances to her when she tried to cling. Then she said in Rohirric, pointing at Wormtongue, "He did things, terrible things to me…" and began crying anew. Emrys face took on a granite like cast and he strode over to Wormtongue, snatching him from Eomer and smashing Wormtongue's nose against his knee, once, twice, three times, then without a word, forced him headfirst underwater.

"Emrys." Theodred said. The young man ignored him, concentrating on drowning Wormtongue.

"Emrys, you are in my service and will obey my orders, and I say he is not to die." Theodred's voice cracked like a whip, filled with a natural authority that was impossible to replicate.

After a couple of long moments Emrys reluctantly lifted Wormtongue out of the muddy water, who promptly sucked in a massive breath of fresh air and said angrily, "He raped Eirian, my sister." He pointed at his sister, who was being checked over gently by Aragorn. "And from what I have heard, he would have happily done the same to your cousin. Why should I not kill him?"

"Because he could still be of use, Emrys. As could Saruman. If it is decided that he should die, you shall have first refusal on execution, you have my word on it." Theodred replied calmly, though his face had darkened when Emrys had mentioned Grima's lust for Eowyn.

Emrys nodded jerkily, dropping Wormtongue like a stone, and remounting his horse. Harry had gone to check on Sirius, who seemed to have gone to sleep, exhausted by his ordeal.

"The filth of Saruman is washing away. Tree's will come back to live here. Young tree's, wild tree's." Treebeard said finally.

Pippin had hopped off the back of Aragorn's horse and had found something in the water, the object Saruman had throne. Something Harry immediately thought was a giant marble, then the power emanating from the thing proving that wrong. Unless marbles in Middle Earth had gone hardcore all of a sudden, that is.

"Bless my bark!" Treebeard exclaimed. Clearly, this was something powerful if an ancient creature, for what else would call Gandalf young, knew of it.

"Peregrin Took. I'll take that my lad." Gandalf said, leaning down. Pippin seemed unwilling to part with it, handing it over after Gandalf said, "Quickly now," and Gandalf wrapped it in part of his cloak. Harry looked at him questioningly, but Gandalf just shook his head.

"We should return to Edoras. I am sure that the soldiers would be unhappy if we held up the victory feast much longer." Théoden said with a smile, then frowned. "But how are we to take these people back. We cannot leave them, but we do not have enough horses, and it is too far to walk."

Harry smiled. "Leave that to me," he said, and beginning grabbing random pieces of floating junk. Théoden quirked an eyebrow at Gandalf, who just shrugged. This magic was new to the both of them.

Harry tapped each of them, turning them into a portkey and said in both common and Rohirric, Emrys chipping in with a Dunlending translation for those Dunlendings who had been in the cells, "This will take you to Edoras. Touch it, you only need a finger. When asked your business, say that Harry Potter, Gandalf the White, King Théoden and the Lords of Gondor and Rohan request that you to be fed and clothed and that they will return from Isengard with all speed." The 60 ex-prisoners looked at him doubtfully, then each group touched their object and disappeared.

"Portkey's. A difficult bit of magic, but it's worked. Sort of like portable apparition, but safer for multiple people to do at once." Harry explained. He then walked over to Sirius and picked him up gently. In his half-starved state, he was frighteningly light. Aside from Eirian, Emrys' sister, he was the only former prisoner left. Harry put Sirius in front of him on his broom and took off gently. "Eirian can have my horse. I doubt Emrys will want to let her out of his sight." The young man in question nodded vigorously, carefully lifting his sister into Harry's saddle, then mounting up himself.

Thanks and goodbyes were said to Treebeard and the other Ents, Saruman and Wormtongue were stunned and lashed to the back of a couple of horses, and the party made for Edoras.

**A/N: Okay, here I would like to make it clear that I am not turning Harry into a God Mode sue, nor am I going to make him perpetually angsty. Or at least not intentionally, so please tell me if you pick up on that, because he should lighten up quite a bit after he meets up with Ginny and Co. He's just very powerful (something which is hinted at in HP canon. Both his parents were renowned as seriously powerful wizards (so much that apparently Voldemort was willing to overlook that Lily was muggleborn if they joined him) so I reckon Badassery is encoded into the genes). He's also been through a lot. PTSD, anyone? But he isn't invincible, and still vulnerable to physical injury, and will lighten up a fair bit.**

**The Sword of Gryffindor will continue to exhibit odd powers, at least one of them a substitute for Fawkes, but I hasten to add that they only work because of desperate need and who and what Harry is.**

**I got the word 'Moristar' from Azraeos's excellent but long dead (last updated in the middle of 2008) fic 'The Black Wizard', and Harry's use of his broom in battle (though that was more a logical conclusion), but it will follow a different path (for one Harry is older and post 2****nd**** Wizarding War, whereas in that fic he was in between his 5****th**** and 6****th**** years, and has the advantage of experience, and disadvantage of not being able to travel between the worlds at will. **


	24. Chapter 24: The Grey Company

**In which there is comedy, reunions, and Sirius singing the cleanest version I could find of an exceptionally rude Scottish Drinking song.**

The victory party was started by a toast to 'the glorious dead', which surprisingly did not involve everyone guzzling all their beer in one go, despite the fact the women had managed, somehow to keep the soldiers out of the hall all day (Harry would have been a greater problem, except he spent much of his time tending to Sirius, who was now presentable, if painfully thin). Everyone present there knew that there was little glory in death, as more often than not a dying soldier could be seen clutching at his escaping entrails and screaming for his mother as he died in agony. But they pretended they did not. It was one of the little lies that made accepting death, even a heroic sacrifice, just a little bit easier.

Then party properly got underway, as Legolas and Gimli began a drinking contest that was avidly watched by all. Harry bet with everyone that Legolas would win, and when Gimli slid under the table with a burp and muttering about 'little hairy women', he made a killing. The only people who refused to bet against Legolas were Emrys, saying he had no money and that betting against a wizard was asking for trouble, and Theodred, who cited the fact that the more insane a bet/deed was, the more likely it was to go in Harry's favour, who pointed this out to Eomer while was grumpily paying Harry, the latter struggling not to look insufferably smug and failing miserably, which contributed greatly to Eomer's grumpiness.

"I am never betting with a wizard. Ever. Again." The third Marshal of Rohan muttered, wandering off to get something to eat, plotting revenge. Eowyn, despite her cooking being legendary for all the wrong reasons, had thrown herself into organising the food with gusto, with stews and soups of all kinds, mostly meat with everything from herbs to hazelnuts, roasted meats, pies, something vaguely spinach like called lambsquarters, carrots, potatoes and a series of seasonings on the side, lots of bread, cheese, and a quickly disappearing amount of mushrooms.

Then came the singing. Unlike the Hall of Fire in Rivendell, this was less like a downsized concert hall and more like an oversized pub. Merry and Pippin were dancing on the table and enthusiastically singing to thumping of tables, clapping and cheers:

_You can search far an' wide_

_You can drink the whole town dry_

_But you'll never find a beer so brown_

_But you'll never find a beer so brown_

_As the one we drink in our home town_

_As the one we drink in our home town_

_You can drink your fancy ales_

_You can drink em by the flagon_

_But the only brew for the brave and true..._

_Comes from the Green Dragon!_

When the two hobbits finished, the clanked tankards together and drained them simultaneously. While the song had been going on, Eomer had snuck up behind Sirius, who was cheering with the best of them, even if he was still a little weak, and whispered something to him. Sirius had eyed him, then nodded with an evil grin. He then turned to Harry and said, "That reminds of an old drinking song your dad's dad taught us when he was drunk." And before Harry could stop, he stood and began singing in a fine tenor voice.

_Four-and-twenty virgins come down from Inverness, And when the Ball was over, there were four-and-twenty less, _

_Singin' balls to your partner, your ass against the wall, If ya never been had on a Saturday night, ya never been had at all.. _

_There was doin' in the parlor, there was doin' on the stones, But ya couldn't a hear the music for the wheezin' and the groans, _

_Singin' balls to your partner, your ass against the wall, If ya never been had on a Saturday night, ya never been had at all. _

_The undertaker, he was there, all wrapped up in a shroud, Swingin' from the chandelier, and peein' on the crowd, _

_Singin' balls to your partner, your ass against the wall, If ya never been had on a Saturday night, ya never been had at all. _

_The village cripple, he was there, ah he could not do much, So he lined the ladies against the wall, and he did 'em with his crutch, _

_Singin' balls to your partner, your ass against the wall, If ya never been had on a Saturday night, ya never been had at all._

Harry, mortified, _silencioed_ Sirius as he moved on to indecent hand gestures to accompany the lyrics to general laughter, and looked towards Théoden, who he expected to be glaring angrily. Instead, the King was astonishingly roaring with laughter, Eowyn was caught between disapproval and giggling, Theodred looked half scandalised half amused, Boromir was cheering Sirius and calling for an encore, Gandalf was shaking his head in fond exasperation, and Eomer was mouthing 'Vengeance is mine!' at Harry. Harry glared at Eomer, then said to Sirius, desilencing him, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "You are completely shameless, you know that?"

"Of course I am pup, I grew up with your dad." Sirius said with a tired smile.

Harry shook his head. "How did Moony ever put up with you two?"

"With difficulty and immense patience, pup. How is the old wolf anyway? And how did you end up here? What did I miss?"

Harry gave him a summarised version of his adventures since Sirius had 'died' in the Department of Mysteries.

"… and when I wanted to go back, I couldn't find anyway. I've been searching for the last four bloody years. Any attempts at apparating back ended up with me in the middle of nowhere, any attempts involving a fire just ended up with me getting burnt. Now, I'm in the middle of a war and I get the feeling that's why I'm here." Harry finished and added, "and please, Sirius, I know you mean well, but I'm a 24 year old war veteran. Not a pup."

Sirius inclined his head in acknowledgement, and said heavily, "Remus is dead then, and has a son, of whom you are now Godfather."

Harry winced, and nodded.

"And the rat… sort of strangled himself."

"I'm not too clear on the details. Something to do with that silver hand he got." Harry replied.

Sirius sighed. "I don't blame you for going, Harry, God alone knows you've suffered enough, nor do I blame you for not being able to get back. You've tried. Hell, I spent 12 years in Azkaban because I failed to control my temper."

"I'm just impressed you didn't kill Wormtail on sight." Harry muttered dryly, taking a pull of ale.

"There is that, I suppose." Sirius grunted, tearing a large strip of meat of a chicken bone.

"What happened to your wand?" Harry asked.

Sirius grinned, and reached under the table, producing his wand. "When I worked out that Saru-what-his-name meant nothing good, I camouflaged it, so it became impossible for any but me to see, and Saru-whojamaflip didn't expect a Wizard not to use a staff." He frowned in puzzlement. "I'm still not entirely certain how I did it." He shrugged. "Probably accidental magic. I just knew I had to hide it, and lo and behold it was hidden."

Harry patted his Godfather gingerly on the shoulder and said, "It is good to see you Sirius. But please. Never sing that song, ever again. Or teach it to anyone." Sirius merely pouted, and continued eating ravenously, making inroads into the vast plate of food before.

**Aragorn and Boromir**

Aragorn smiled and shook his head as he saw Harry silence his godfather, beet red, while Boromir slapped his thighs and roared with laughter.

"I dread to think what will happen when those to decide to work together." He said amusedly.

Boromir wiped his eyes, which had been tearing up, and said, "Well, Eomer had better look to himself. Harry isn't going to let that one pass."

Aragorn inclined his head in agreement , as he saw Harry and Sirius put their heads together and started whispering.

Boromir's prediction came true as when Eomer, nursing a fearsome hangover the next morning much like everyone else, ate one of the sweet pasties on his plate, he turned into giant canary, with a series of blue feathers on its breast saying, 'Vengeance: Best served the morning after' . As he turned back about a minute later, there was no great crisis, and everyone had a good laugh, especially as Eomer spontaneously turned into canary intermittently throughout the day.

Boromir had planned to leave that very day, to go speak to his father and defend Gondor, but he was hamstrung by an almighty hangover and was holding a block of ice to his head, courtesy of Harry. Aragorn was looking long suffering as he tended to those in various states of hangover-induced lack of will to live. Harry had wandered around looking bored, having pranked Eomer, put Sirius to sleep and cleaned his armour, until he happened upon Emrys and decided to help him practice his swordsmanship.

Two hours passed, and Emrys showed himself to be a fair hand with a blade, if not a master of the craft, and the practice had moved around the city, as Harry sought to teach him how to fight on uneven terrain, including several mock fights on the roofs of sturdier buildings. Harry also took the opportunity to teach him a vast number of dirty tricks, bluntly telling him that beautiful blade work was no use if you were spitted on an Orc's sword. Eventually they got close to the sentry tower, the stables, and then back towards Meduseld.

"Parry, parry, thrust, thrust, good!" Harry said, now in a mock duel with Emrys on the steps of Meduseld, Eirian watching curiously. Emrys seemed to get the upper hand, and exultantly he drove in for the metaphorical kill.

"Your brother is good." Eirian jumped as a quiet voice sounded from behind her. She looked up to see Sirius, he former fellow prisoner, and some sort of adopted kin of the man she and her brother owed their lives to.

"So is your…" Eirian fumbled for the word.

"Godson. A ward, you would call it." Sirius supplied.

"I never thought Emrys would be so good with a sword." She said wonderingly, then added sadly, "I suppose who would have to become good, or die fast."

"He's good." Sirius said, not taking his eyes off the duel. What he saw, having watched and participated many fights, and frankly, down and dirty magical duelling was little different from sword fighting in its essentials, let alone the number of bar room brawls he'd been involved in. So he was expecting Harry's intentional stumble, and as Emrys leapt forward, Harry allowed himself to fall back, grabbed Emrys' arms as he did, then used his momentum and a powerful shove with his legs into Emrys' stomach to send the surprised boy sailing overhead. "Harry's better." He said, flashing a smile at Eirian. Even for all his gaunt face and thin figure, he was still a handsome man, especially when he smiled, with a certain air of puckish mischief about his bearing. Considering what had happened to Prince Eomer that morning, and what was still happening to him, this was not surprising.

"The Black Wizard has had a good deal more experience though," she pointed out fairly, and Sirius nodded in acknowledgement.

"It makes you wonder what they've both been through, though. Harry's fought far too many battles, for far too long, and it's changed him. What he did to Saruman… I've never seen him that angry, and that cold. Underneath, he's the same boy. He's the spitting image of his father, my best friend. I sometimes forgot it was him not James, who I was talking to. Now, no danger of that. Harry's become his own man, and he's more dangerous than James ever was."

"Emrys never hurt anyone if he could avoid it. He never started fights on purpose, unless you count letting his mouth run and get him into trouble, and he would defend me, as if I couldn't look after myself, especially after our father died." Eirian said, rolling her eyes fondly. "Now, he's willing to kill in cold blood, to beat information out of someone. I saw what he had done to Saruman, not that he didn't deserve it, but that didn't seem like my brother. He's grown up too fast. They all have, an entire generation of cold, ruthless people."

"These are hard times. They leave little room for sentimentality." Sirius said grimly, then shrugged and added, "Still, they can laugh. And that's important."

"Sometimes if you don't laugh, you'll cry." Harry said, dusting himself off, as Emrys stood up, wincing. Then he turned and narrowed his eyes. "Hello, what's this then?" He said slowly, catching sight of some glittering weapons out on the plain. "Legolas, what do you see?" He called.

"33 horsemen, dressed like the Dunedain, though 3 do not seem to blend in…" Legolas said, climbing up to the high sentry post, then a smile curved his lips. "They should be here in ten minutes."

"What aren't you telling me Legolas?" Harry asked warily.

"You'll see." The elf replied with a smirk, climbing down. "Aragorn and Theoden will want to meet these visitors."

Harry nodded, still thinking, and signalled a guardsman to find the various Lords of Gondor and Rohan. Gimli ambled out, and asked amiably, "Anything happening, laddie?"

"33 Dunedain are arriving in ten minutes and Legolas is hiding something." Harry grumbled.

Gimli snorted. "He's an elf. They're always hiding something."

"At least we remember what we hide, and where we hide it." Legolas replied snidely.

As the two started bickering again, Harry shook his head. "You would never believe that both of them have ages measured in centuries, in Legolas' case, millennia, and are the sons of two of the most powerful people in Middle Earth."

"People are the same everywhere, Harry. Those two are like an old married couple; they'll bicker till the end of time, and enjoy it immensely." Sirius said with a smile.

"Sounds like my parents. Emrys barely remembers our mother, but I am 3 years old than he, and remember that she and our father argued all the time."

"Sounds like Ron and Hermione to me. I wonder if they've got married yet?" Harry said with smile.

Gandalf, Théoden, Aragorn, Boromir, Eowyn, Theodred and Eomer, the latter currently non-canary, made their way outside.

"I'm told we have visitors. Dunedain from the North, Lord Aragorn's kin." Théoden said.

"About 33, according to Legolas, and there's something he isn't saying." Harry said, directing a brief glare at the elf in question, who spoke to Aragorn in a nigh incomprehensible stream of Sindarin. Aragorn replied, querying, and Legolas confirmed. He then whispered to the rest of the group, all of whom wore curious and surprised expressions, then began to grin widely.

Harry sulked. They were keeping a secret and it was obviously something big. Then the riders came thundering through the city. The lead rider was Halbarad, Aragorn's cousin, his foster brothers Elladan and Elrohir, and behind them was…

Harry rubbed his eyes and said tiredly, "Fucking hell, Eomer, if you've spiked my drink again, there will be hell to pay." He turned to Sirius. "Do I look stoned to you?"

"No. Does this happen often?" Sirius drawled. "For what it's worth, Harry I see them too." Harry eyed then turned to look at three people who he had thought he would never see again, three people who haunted his dreams. Ginny, Ron and Hermione.

Ginny dismounted first, strode up to him and slapped him. Hard. "That, is for leaving without telling us." Then she grabbed his face and pulled him into a deep kiss. "And that, is for still being alive."

Harry rubbed his face and said, "Guess I deserved that one."

"The kiss or the slap?" Sirius said with a grin.

Harry paused, then said, "Okay, I'm not sure what to say that won't get me slapped again."

"Sirius?" Ginny said disbelievingly.

"In the flesh and blood. And bone. Mostly bone at the moment. 7 years being tortured in Saru-whatsits dungeons doesn't do a body any good." Sirius replied flippantly.

"As I have told you, Sirius Black, it is Saruman who imprisoned you." Gandalf said slightly long suffering tone of voice.

"Yeah, Saru-thingy."

"Sirius, no winding up the nice White Wizard." Harry admonished. Sirius pouted. Then all the air exploded from Harry's lungs as Ron, Hermione and Ginny grabbed him into an enormous group hug.

"Is this normal?" Boromir asked Sirius.

"For those four? Pretty much."

"Gently!" Harry wheezed, then hugged back. "It's great to see you guys… but how did you get here?"

"Dumbledore sent us, mate. Until now, every time someone tried to get out of him what happened to you, he was cryptic or wandered off somewhere else, and all the other portraits claimed to be out or asleep at the time. Somehow Ginny managed to get it out of him, and we got sent here. We've been staying at this, this, River-thingy place." Ron said.

"Honestly Ron, Riven_dell_. You were there 3 weeks ago! How could you have forgotten?" Hermione said, looking exasperated.

"I have you to remember for me, don't I?" He replied with a grin, kissing her on the forehead. She half-heartedly swatted him on the arm and grinned.

Meanwhile Harry hesitantly leant down and kissed Ginny, first slowly, then with increasing passion. After a long time, compelled by the need to breathe, Ginny and Harry broke the kiss, held each other and looked deep into one another's eyes… then with a puffing sound and an offended squawk, Eomer turned into a canary again, ruining the romantic moment.

"I took the liberty of copying Fred and George's recipe, and with some help, modifying it slightly." Harry explained, to Ginny whose eyes had gone wide, without turning to look at Canary!Eomer, who was now directing an avian glare at Harry.

"Um, right guys, I should introduce you to everyone. That's King Théoden, ruler of Rohan, that's Gandalf, chief Wizard round here and walking detergent advert, that's Aragorn, also known as Estel, with one l at the end, Strider, Wingfoot, Thorongil, Heir of Isildur and a thousand other names that would take all day to recite. He seems to collect them. That's Prince Theodred, King Théoden's son and the heir apparent to Rohan, that's Lord Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor and Captain-General of her armies, the young man in the Rohirric colours is Emrys, Prince Theodred's squire and bodyguard, the young lady next to Sirius is his sister, Eirian, who was in captivity with Sirius, the blonde woman next to Theodred is Princess Eowyn, his cousin and easily his equal with a sword, not that he likes to admit it, and last but not least, the giant canary is her brother, Prince Eomer who made the mistake of initiating a prank war by getting Sirius to sing a very rude drinking song very loudly at the victory celebrations. Do not be alarmed if he turns to and from a giant canary at random intervals, it's caused by a deviation from the original recipe that Sirius and I cooked up. It should wear off by the end of the day. Off to the side are Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood, a kingdom with almost as many names as Aragorn, and Gimli son of Gloin, a dwarf lord. Never judge an Orc killing contest between the two; it'll only end in tears and I always win. Never try and outdrink either of them, you'll just wake up the next morning with the worst hangover of your life and they will be fresh as a daisy. And not present are Merry and Pippin, two hobbits, who are probably somewhere off smoking, eating, causing trouble or all three." Harry said, as the party collectively rolled their eyes at Harry's colourful descriptions.

Ron raised a solitary eyebrow. His best friend really had changed. The old Harry wouldn't have been half as irreverent around a group of people who, insofar as he could tell, ruled most of Middle Earth, or were due to inherit it. But when you really looked, there wasn't that much difference. Harry had always been slightly prone to sarcasm, and he now seemed to have exacerbated it as a defence mechanism. As the old saying went, if you don't laugh, you'll cry. Ron had seen it other auror's, their sometimes painfully forced laughter and routines that kept them from snapping.

And he was clearly still in love with Ginny, which was something of an achievement after 4 or 5 years in a foreign world with no hope of return. He wrapped his arm around Hermione's shoulders and smiled. It was good to see his sister smiling again and his best friend in moderately good condition. Even if he was now conspiring with Sirius, and modifying Fred and George's pranks which only boded ill for Middle Earth. And he was really going to have to ask Harry why he was dressed in armour with a Gryffindor crest on it and a suspiciously familiar sword at his hip.

"Now, let's get your horses stabled, get you a drink and you can tell me everything I've missed." Harry said firmly, then paused to hug each of them in turn and said, full of emotion, "It's fantastic to see you guys, it really is." He moved on to greet the Dunedain, shaking hands and cracking jokes of questionable morality.

Eomer, who had by now morphed back into a human, leaving behind a trail of yellow feathers, greeted them with commendable restraint, and Ginny noticed more than one pair of eyes curiously flick between her and Harry and back again. Things were a little awkward at first, but they soon broke the ice with everyone's favourite activity: telling embarrassing stories about Harry, though Hermione soon cornered Gandalf and was asking him a battery of questions about magic in Middle Earth, which truth be told Gandalf was rather enjoying answering as it meant an audience that interested in knowing why and how, not just what, was happening.

By the time Harry arrived, they had moved onto Harry's ridiculous self-sacrificing tendencies, which Harry ignited into a lively debate, he saying that his saving people thing wasn't compulsive, and everyone else saying, that, yes in fact it was.

Once this was over and Harry was sulking slightly, Hermione mollified him with a promise to tell all that he had missed.

"… so Teddy is happy living with his grandmother, Bill and Fleur have a daughter, Victoire, Neville and Hannah Abbott are married and he now teaches Herbology at Hogwarts, Luna married Rolf Scamander and has had twins, Lorcan and Lysander, who show every sign of being as odd as their mother, Cho married a muggle, Charles something, Hagrid's still teaching Care of Magical creatures and hasn't changed a bit, and… Ron and I got married." Hermione finished, having given the rundown of events in the Magical and Muggle worlds, including 9/11 which turned Harry's stomach, and got a similar reaction from all who heard it. The idea of killing over 3000 civilians, innocents, not even prisoners of war was utterly alien to any creature in Middle Earth, save Orc's.

"I'm really sorry Harry, I wanted you for best man but… everyone thought you were dead." Ron said awkwardly.

Harry felt a momentary ache, then dismissed it and said dryly, "I was on another world at the time, and just a little out of contact range."

And the reunited Trio, plus Ginny, joked and laughed, and for a brief, shining moment all troubles were forgotten as they all bathed in the golden light of friendship and happiness. But while the shadow had been driven from Rohan, it gathered in Mordor and concentrated its power for one vicious strike on Gondor. The battle was won, but the war was still firmly balanced in Sauron's favour.

That night, everyone slept well, though Harry occasionally had to resist the violent urge to curse those snoring loudly, which included Ron, whose buzz saw like snore had only been vaguely ameliorated by married life. Hermione must sleep _really_ deeply, Harry thought grumpily. Then a silly smile spread over his face as he wondered at his good fortune. His friends were here, Ginny was kissing him and apparently deeply in love with him... life got little better than this.

He looked up at a noise and saw Pippin sneaking over to Gandalf, carrying a small pot, and promptly swapped it for the strange ominous ball.

"Pip!" Merry hissed warningly.

"I just want to look at it." Pippin replied quietly, voice laced with a worrying desire. Harry rose silently and stalked towards them, planning to scare Pippin into putting it back. Just before he was close enough to pounce, Pippin clapped his hands around it and suddenly they were glued their by a dark magical force, a sickly orange light emanating from the object, Pippin clearly in agony. Harry stepped forward and snatched it away from him and was consumed by agony as he felt mental feelers batter at his psychic defences.

_What are you?_

Since when was that your business? Harry replied.

The attack intensified and Harry snarled, drawing strength from deep within him, saying through the enforced psychic link, words enhanced with a red gold power, **GET. OUT. **

The attack retreated abruptly as Aragorn took the crazy psychic ball of evil from him, and thrashed in pain, then it was knocked clear, rolling and Gandalf threw his cloak over it.

"Fool of a Took!" He said angrily, then went to check on Pippin who was not moving, eyes open and deathly pale.

"Look at me." He said, as Pippin regained consciousness.

"Gandalf… forgive me." Pippin said, and tried to turn away.

"Look at me." Gandalf said commandingly, and Pippin looked.

"What did you see?"

"A tree, there was a white tree. In a courtyard of stone. It was dead. He said it was burning."

"Minas Tirith. Is that what you saw?" Gandalf asked quietly

"I saw, I saw… I saw him, Gandalf. I could hear his voice in my head.

"What did he tell you?" Gandalf asked, fear in his eyes, then shook Pippin slightly. "Speak!"

"He asked me my name. I didn't answer him. He hurt me."

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

It transpired, as Gandalf said the next morning that Pippin had indeed revealed nothing.

"Also, Harry who was briefly in possession of the Palantir somehow managed to expel Sauron from his mind. This will worry Sauron. He like everyone else, has heard stories of the Black Wizard, and now has seen them confirmed. He fears a potential challenger to his power. He knows from the defeat at Helm's Deep that the heir of Elendil has come forth, men are not as weak as he supposed, there is courage still, strength, enough perhaps to challenge him. Sauron fears both of these. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men. If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war." Gandalf said, staring at Théoden while he said this.

"Tell me. Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?"

"Would you like me to list that alphabetically, or chronologically? Your country, for one, your son for another… would you like me to continue?" Harry interjected sarcastically.

Boromir stood and said, cutting off the brewing debate as Théoden's face rapidly went purple. "I am sorry, but I cannot put this off any longer. I must return to Gondor, for as Gandalf said, it will bear the brunt of Sauron's assault. I cannot in all good conscience leave her for any longer."

"I will come with you." Aragorn said firmly, and Boromir's face briefly wrinkled before he carefully smoothed it into an impassive mask.

"No Aragorn. You must come to the city by another road." Gandalf said, and added something quietly to Aragorn that Harry didn't catch.

"Understand this. Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith, as does Boromir. And we won't be going alone."

"I will go. Sauron has seen me, and I am sorry, so sorry my friends, but he will expect me to be with the one he believes to have the Ring." Harry said to his friends, looking significantly at Pippin, and thought for a moment.

"Ginny can come with me." Harry said to Gandalf, "She can fight easily as well as I can, and she fought and survived the most dangerous witch I've ever known, who her mother promptly killed in a one on one duel. And if nothing else, she will help me to fend off the attentions of the relentless old biddies in Gondor who keep trying to get me to marry their daughters." He added with a hint of dark humour. Gandalf raised his impressive eyebrows but nodded his acquiescence.

"But Harry-" Hermione began.

"Théoden will need your strength in days to come. It is quite possible that he will divert up to 3 of the Nine to try and cut off Rohan, and the only sure fire way of getting rid of them is to set them alight or use the Patronus." Harry cut across her sharply, Ron nodding reluctantly in agreement at the Military sense, remembering what he had learnt about the dreaded Nazgul. Harry then softened his voice. "I am sorry, Ron, Hermione, I really am. I'll see you at Minas Tirith." He added with a grin, "I hear they have great archives that go thousands of years back." He hugged them both individually tightly and whispered to Ron, "Stay safe. And don't you dare die on me, y'hear?"

"You're the one who can't stop saving people, not me. I'd watch your own back, if I was you." Ron said with a choked voice and a half-smile.

And with some tears, they bade each other farewell while Gandalf berated Pippin and two wizards, a witch, a man and a hobbit rode for the fabled White City of Minas Tirith.

**Well, at least Harry still has Ginny with him. Please click the not so little button down here, and receive a cheering charm.**


	25. Chapter 25: Minas Tirith

**A/N: In which there is intrigue, arguing both Sirius and childish, introspection, exploration of character and sex references. Enjoy!**

**Also, it should be interesting to see who spots the Dumbo (at least I think its Dumbo…) shout out. And the other ironic joke about book titles.**

The ride took several days, after Gandalf vetoed the idea of apparition on the grounds that Sauron might be able interfere in the process and no one wanted to turn up in Minas Tirith minus an arm. Occasionally they were challenged by members of the justly feared Gondorian Rangers, who let them past on seeing who they were.

When the fabled White City came into view, Ginny and Pippin gasped. Even Harry could not hold back an awed whistle. Nothing like it existed in his world. Sure, London had a few skyscrapers, and was rather larger, but just did not compare to the jewel like beauty of Minas Tirith. Boromir flushed with pride and whispered, "Home," and kicked his horse into a gallop, the rest following behind. Trumpets blared, banners flew and soldiers snapped to attention as Gondor welcomed the commander of her armies home.

Boromir exchanged nods, shouted greetings and occasionally even stopped to talk to a soldier, who no matter how small and shambolic, quivered with pride on being addressed by Lord Boromir, and all of them looked as if they would follow him into hell itself and he looked as if he could lead them through it unscathed. Gandalf and Harry, both well known in the city were the cause of many whispers throughout the gathered crowds. Both had a reputation for appearing when trouble was close at hand, and no one had forgotten Denethor's pink hair. Ginny and particularly Pippin attracted curious stares that followed them up the many levels of the city as they ascended, and when they reached the citadel, they were immediately ushered through to the steward, after Gandalf stopped to persuade Shadowfax to go with one of the apprehensive grooms who came to collect their horses.

As they were escorted through the courtyard, Ginny whispered to Harry, "What is that tree? Is it dead?"

"It's the white tree of Gondor, the country's symbol along with the seven stars. And not so much dead as… dormant." Harry replied quietly, for Pippin's benefit as the little Hobbit was staring at the tree, no doubt remembering his vision in the Palantir.

Gandalf stopped by the door and said to Pippin, Ginny and Harry, "Do not mention Aragorn or his status in front of Denethor. And Harry, please, refrain from insulting him. Just for once."

"Aragorn is the heir to the Gondorian throne. The Stewards have ruled Gondor for over a thousand years and Denethor is a prideful man. He would resent Aragorn's coming immensely." Harry explained quietly to Ginny, who raised her eyebrows and nodded. They walked into the coldly beautiful marble throne room, decorated in monochrome, statues of King's and Steward's past in small alcoves on the sides of the room. At the end sat with a white sceptre in a black wooden chair before the marble throne was Steward Denethor, a grizzled and grey haired man in late middle age with a forbidding expression that darkened when he saw Gandalf and Harry, and then brightened when he looked upon his son.

"Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor." Gandalf said, but Denethor only had eyes for his son.

"That's got to be the first time I've ever seen him smile." Harry whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Gandalf, whose lips twitched in a smile which was quickly smothered.

"Boromir, my son, you have returned! It is so good to see you, you look well." Denethor said exuberantly, standing to hug his son, then his manner turned furtive. "Did you bring _it_?"

Boromir sighed inwardly. He had known this was coming. "No father. It is too strong for us to control, that I learnt. We would follow Isildur into death if we tried."

"Who taught you that I wonder? These two conjurers, one young, one old, one arrayed in black and the other in white, yet equal in their meddling." Denethor asked rhetorically.

"At least we blend in." Harry replied airily, pointedly looking at the monochrome decoration.

"No father, I learnt it the hard way. The Ring nearly destroyed me, father. We cannot control it." Boromir said firmly.

"Are you sure that was not merely an illusion? I fear that you have been deceived my son." Denethor said sadly.

"You need to light the Beacons, Denethor. Call for help. Rohan will come." Gandalf advised

"Deceived? The One Ring turned your son, one of the most loyal men of my acquaintance to madness, by finding a weak point and exploiting it. It responds to one master and one alone. When he realised what he had nearly done, he begged me to kill him. Boromir the brave, a man who fought 200 Uruk-Hai without blinking, even after being shot in the chest, the man who has fought cave trolls and faced a Balrog while retaining his composure,_ begged_, Steward Denethor. Do you not trust your own son's testimony? If it can break him, it can break anyone." Harry said coldly.

"When I want your opinions, Black Wizard, Gandalf, I will ask for them." Denethor said just as coldly. "And I know what you plan, Gandalf. The eyes of the White Tower are not blind. With your right hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your left you would supplant me. I have heard of this Ranger from the North, this _Aragorn_, son Arathorn, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship." He pretty much spat Aragorn's name, "And I say that he will never be King here."

"Authority is not given to you to deny the Return of the King, _Steward_!" Gandalf snapped. Harry thought vaguely that 'The Return of the King' would make an excellent title for a book… or maybe a film.

"Rule of Gondor is _mine_! And no others!" Denethor snarled.

"Yeah, about that, the word 'steward' means someone who is looking after something for someone else. Not ruler. Your son, unlike you, has learned that there are other courses of action than maniacal intransigence. So, suck it up and deal with it." Harry replied, not flinching as Denethor death stared him.

"You don't scare me Denethor. I have been stared at by far more dangerous people than you." Harry said quietly.

Denethor then switched tack. "And two of your party have yet to speak, the halfling and the beautiful red headed young woman. What is their purpose here?"

"To help fight Sauron, as we all wish to do." Gandalf said quietly.

"What use will a Halfling and a woman be in the defence against Mordor's armies?" Denethor asked mockingly.

"Bat-bogeys?" Ginny whispered.

"Nah. Levitate his chair." Harry replied.

Ginny drew her wand and did just that. "I think your question is answered, Lord Steward," she said coolly.

"She is a witch who is easily as skilled as I, if not more, though perhaps with a little less raw power." Harry said, savouring Denethor's poleaxed expression as he was lowered to the floor.

"I take it she is yours, Black Wizard, since you speak for her so much." Denethor sneered. Before the sentence was finished, Harry had his wand drawn and pointed at Denethor.

"Speak so again, Lord Steward, then rank and ancestry be damned; pink hair will be the least of your worries. How do you like the idea of your tongue being attached to the roof of your mouth? Then I wouldn't have to listen to any more of your bile." Harry said with a soft menace, then looked to Boromir and said, "I'm sorry Boromir, but I needed to remind your father about how to speak to a lady in polite company. It seems he has forgotten." Boromir sensibly said nothing, though his eyes showed a tacit acknowledgement that Harry had not been wrong, even if he did not like to admit it.

"I can defend myself you know." Ginny said in a dry whisper.

"Yes, but I think it would have been a diplomatic fiasco if the Steward's mucus suddenly took to the air and began attacking him." Harry replied just as quietly.

Then something unexpected happened. Pippin stood forward and went down on one knee. "Your son risked his life to save mine, and was nearly killed. I owe your house a debt of honour that I, Peregin son of Paladin, would repay by serving you." Harry glanced up at Gandalf, suspecting he had coached Pippin in this, but the old wizard looked as surprised as he was, even if he was better at not showing it. Even Boromir looked surprised.

Denethor looked at Pippin with what only a charitable describer would call a smile.

"I accept your service, Peregrin son of Paladin, if you swear the oath of loyalty. Boromir my son, would be so kind as to teach it to him?"

Boromir nodded stiffly and over the next half an hour painstakingly taught Pippin the oath of fealty that he was to give to Denethor, and a servant was sent to collect some of Faramir's childhood armour.

Eventually, Pippin went down on one knee, and with some hesitation and much nervousness, recited the oath. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end."

Denethor stood and accepted the oath, then said with a lordly magnanimity, "I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."

Harry restrained himself with great difficulty from making a smart remark. Inwardly, he was worried. Pippin, in his well-meant and as ever ill thought out action had given Denethor a lever on Gandalf, and a potential spy against Gandalf and Harry.

"May I suggest father that he is assigned to my service? I taught him swordplay and I would like to help polish his skills in that regard. Not only that, but he is small, fast and agile, with an excellent eye for detail, meaning that he would make an excellent runner, if nothing else." Boromir intervened respectfully. Harry strangled a triumphant smile. Clever, clever, _clever_ Boromir! He too had seen it coming and managed to prevent it.

Denethor too had seen it, and curled his lip slightly, but acquiesced with a painfully false joviality. "Of course my son, your young and agile mind outpaces my old and weary one. He shall be assigned to your service."

"Thank you, my lord." Boromir said formally, and at a nudge from Harry, Pippin bowed and copied him.

Once they returned to their collective apartments as night fell, Harry and Ginny having been given a separate room with a knowing smirk from the chamberlain, Gandalf thanked Boromir. "That was excellent piece of quick thinking, Boromir. You prevented Pippin being caught between his friends and his liegelord and acquired for yourself a good errand runner in one neat stroke."

Boromir grimaced. "And I have lost much of my father's good will in the process," then looked to Pippin who was examining his new armour and said, "that was Faramir's first armour as a boy. He immediately started running around, proclaiming he would slay all dragons and evildoers in the world." Boromir cracked a wistful smile. "Mother was still alive then, if a little faded, and father… was not as bitter as he is now. He cared for both of us equally and favoured neither. It was a good time."

"I remember Finduilas well. So beautiful and full of life, a breath of fresh sea air… but Mordor killed her. The darkness sapped her life and will to live until she became a shell of the woman she once was." Gandalf said sadly, then smiled and said, "And her kindness and wisdom lives on in her sons."

"Faramir, certainly. He is one of the kindest people I know, save when he is in battle. I have always been a warrior, harsh, ruthless and a calculating commander." Boromir refuted him.

"Oi, moaning about your own perceived failures is my schtick. Stop infringing." Harry replied, then said sarcastically, "I take it that your cold and calculating side is why your soldiers love you and would die for you without hesitation, why it was you who comforted me after Gandalf died. Yes, very cold, very ruthless, no doubt all with a cunning ulterior motive. Face it Boromir, you're like a big, fluffy… stuffed toy!"

Boromir stuck his tongue out in an immensely childish gesture and said truculently, "Am not."

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Am _not_."

"Are _so_."

Gandalf put his head in his hands. "The world is doomed."

Ginny shrugged and said, "Look on the bright side. Any normal Dark Lord wouldn't believe a bunch of childish idiots could be any threat whatsoever. It's all an obviously masterfully planned gambit to lull him into a false sense of security." She added sarcastically.

"Genius planners, that's us." Boromir said, looking almost innocent.

"We have a cunning plan…" Harry said and grinned.

Ginny stared at him flatly and said, "You've just made a reference that only Hermione would get, haven't you."

"…maybe."

Ginny sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why I love you."

Harry slipped up behind her and kissed her neck. "Because of this?"

"Mr Potter, are you suggesting I'm so shallow that I love you only for your body?"

"Never Miss Weasley, I merely know that you would have to be a fool, and you are most definitely not, to fail to love it."

"If you two are going to have sex, kindly get on with it in the _other _room and leave us in peace. We don't want a full frontal display." Boromir said dryly, looking out towards Osgiliath. Before Harry and Ginny could either come up with a sarcastic reply or make good on his suggestion, an enormous beam of pale greenish white light shot up from near Mordor with a crackling roar.

Gandalf hugged Pippin to his side and said grimly, "The enemy is on the move."

"Really? I thought that it was just Sauron's birthday and they couldn't afford fireworks, so went with ominous eldritch beams of greenish light instead." Harry said, voice dripping with sarcasm, then said sincerely, "Okay, joking aside, what the hell was that?"

"Minas Morgul." Boromir said grimly. "The Nazgul's base. It was once a Gondorian Watchtower, but the Nine took it and perverted it to their own fell purposes. Now, there is a ceaseless malevolent presence about the place, an evil that never sleeps."

"Well, what would a group of evil undead do with sleep?" Harry replied.

"Harry, I notice you get more sarcastic as you get either more angry or more worried. Neither is particularly helpful at the moment." Gandalf said sternly.

"Sorry Gandalf." Harry said, then smiled and turned to Ginny, lightly pushing some of her behind her ear and slipping a hand behind her back. "Now where were we?"

"Out!"

**Ron, Sirius and Theodred**

"I wonder what Harry and Ginny are getting up to now." Ron said thoughtfully. He, Theodred and Sirius were drinking sociably, while Eowyn, Legolas, Gimli and Hermione were quizzing each other on their respective worlds and life stories, Eomer had decided to get an early night, as had Aragorn, after the latter had brewed a hangover remedy for the next morning. Emrys had looked interested on mention of alcohol until his sister had dragged him away and made sure he went to bed, easily foiling two escape attempts before he finally went grumpily to sleep.

"They'll have arrived at the city by now, and spoken to Steward Denethor." Theodred supplied helpfully.

"What's he like?" Ron asked, curious.

Theodred thought for a long time. "Gruff. Harsh, but fair. A little thin skinned, and favours Boromir over his little brother, Faramir, which upsets both. It's because of this last that he really doesn't like Harry."

Ron felt his heart sink. "Dare I ask?"

"Harry objected to Denethor's constant denigration of Faramir when Boromir was not around to defend him. So he turned Denethor's hair and sceptre pink. For a month." Theodred replied, downing a pint.

Sirius barked with laughter and said, "That's my boy! And back to your original question, Ron, they're a young couple who are deeply in love who haven't seen each other in god knows how long and haven't had a shag in even longer. What on earth do you think they're doing?" He added with an eye roll as Theodred performed a spit take all over the table.

Ron went pale and shoved his mug across to Sirius. "Turn this into Firewhiskey. Now. I need to bleach my brain."

Sirius obliged, grinning, and said, "They're catching up of course. What did you immediately think of?"

Ron downed most of the Firewhiskey and glared at Sirius. "You are a cruel, cruel man, Black."

"And proud of it. Have some more whiskey."

**Théoden**

Théoden was not asleep, though he should have been. Even though his Gondorian ancestry granted him a longer life and longer youth than most men, he was still no longer a spry young man who could pace and drink all night and lead a cavalry charge the next morning. He was standing on just outside the door of Meduseld, on the small porch like area, staring out over his capital and his kingdom. All was relatively quiet, though he could hear at least one familiar off key drunken voice singing some unspeakable drinking song off in the distance, joined by two less familiar voices, equally drunken, wending their way up the slope with some crashes, bangs and swearing. Eventually his son and two drinking partners hoved into view. It made sense, Theoden thought, that Harry's friends would cause at least as much mayhem as the man himself. On the other hand, no one had turned into a giant yellow bird since Harry left, or something equally weird, so maybe the craziness was dying down.

Or not, he thought with a sigh, as a group of multi-coloured creatures of indeterminate species and magical origin flew past his nose and started parading in front of the three, one of whom, Sirius, loudly began singing,

_I can stand the sight of microscopic germs, but multi coloured pachyderms are just too much for me!_

Then he frowned, as if he couldn't remember the rest of the words. Theodred, meanwhile, had promptly staggered and been spectacularly ill. Théoden rolled his eyes and nodded at a couple of the guards who helped them into the hall and towards their chambers with soothing words and saintly patience. Another couple fetched something to clean up the royal vomit with.

"You cannot sleep?" Théoden restrained himself from jumping as a familiar soft voice came from behind him, its owner silent as ever.

"No." He replied shortly. Legolas stepped alongside him, hooded in a grey cloak so as to cover his natural glow.

"You think of the people, of the peace that has been so hard won, yet could be shattered at any moment." The elf replied. On Théoden's surprised look, he elaborated. "It has been on my mind throughout this quest. The kingdoms of the elves are dying. We are leaving these shores, but my father has elected to remain." Legolas was silent for a moment, then said, "The only reason he would go to Valinor is for my mother, and it is likely that she did not answer the call of Mandos. I worry for the sake of my people too. As I grew up, Sauron was no more than an evil fairy tale, designed to scare recalcitrant children into behaving, of which I was one. He was a demon that haunted the nursery, nothing more. Eventually he returned, and quickly destroyed the Kingdom of Arnor and crippled Gondor's ability to fight him, then set about restoring his power. I fear that if I fail, my woodland home will burn and fuel Sauron's war machine, like Saruman did to parts of Fangorn. If that happens, my people, a trifle uncultured and not as urbane as Lord Elrond's folk, generally speaking, will die, ignorant of what they did to deserve their terrible fate. Ignorance is not always bliss. Nor is knowledge. I know, for I have felt both."

Théoden nodded, and asked, "You have long experience in statecraft Master Elf. What would you suggest we do with Saruman and Wormtongue?"

"I was originally the second son, the spare, though no less loved and therefore less trained in matters of state. Only after my elder brother died in an ambush was I belatedly educated in matters of state, and I had little interest in them. For what it is worth, I believe if you release Saruman, he will only cause trouble elsewhere, and is too dangerous to keep in the long term. Wormtongue has been broken by his time with Saruman, very little is left of the man he was, if any. Letting Emrys kill him would be a mercy to both the executioner and executed. I would counsel Saruman to be kept for judgement, gagged and bound, by Gandalf after this ends, for his a Maiar of Gandalf's order, or that you execute him immediately."

Théoden nodded. "I will do as you suggest, Prince Legolas. Wormtongue will be executed under the laws of Rohan, and Saruman will be held pending trial. And know that you are not the only one who bears this burden of knowledge, and that others will help you bear in any way they can."

"Good night, King Théoden. Thank you for your counsel, and I hope that you will sleep well. May the Belair bless you."

"Good night, Prince Legolas. I hope so too. May Béma keep you."

As the elf departed as soundlessly as he had arrived, not even the swish of a cloak or the creak of an open door to indicate that he had left, and no marks to indicate that he had ever been there.

**Note on translation: The Belair are the Valar, and Béma is the name for the Vala Orome, who is very important to the Rohirrim.**

**Well, can you be good, virtuous readers and reward my labours by clicking on that little button down there? Please?**


	26. Chapter 26: Revelations of the Steward

**A/N: A slightly shorter chapter, in anticipation of the Battle of Pelennor Fields, which is imminent. An appetiser as it were.**

**I always figured that if Boromir was present, Denethor might be pushed back into sanity. I will freely admit that this has been done before, but it makes sense, and I've phrased it differently to any other (I think).**

**Implications, less than subtle, of sex in which I am probably pushing the T boundary as far as it will go.**

The mood in Minas Tirith was decidedly nervous as soldiers marched in from Lossarnach, Pelargir, Dol Amroth and sundry other places, as Gondor called on her outlying provinces for aid. And while every soldier who came was reasonably well equipped and trained, it was painfully obvious that they, Dol Amroth aside since Prince Imrahil had come personally leading the legendary swan knights to great acclaim and no little relief, had kept their best troops at home. They believed that Minas Tirith, so long the bastion of the West, would fall in the same manner as Osgiliath, the formerly great riverside capital that was now a strategically placed ruin which periodically changed hands between Orc's and Men. The only things that brought hope to the city were the presence of Boromir, the widely loved and talismanic Captain General, Gandalf, the famed White Wizard, and Harry, the Black Wizard, who was a less known but much theorised about person of power. The latest theory was that he was a mighty elf lord from the farthest west or east, who had only revealed himself in these terrible times. This had amused Harry, and he wondered whether he should glamour his ears into points, then dismissed it, filing it away for future consideration.

Harry looked out over the city as the stars sparkled in the sky. It was March and chilly for the time of year, but a warming charm soon took care of that problem. He wore only a pair of sturdy black breeches that had served him well in Middle Earth, and didn't particularly care if someone bothered to look up and see the powerful and mysterious Black Wizard half naked on a balcony. Still, even in these times there were things to be happy about, he thought as he turned to look fondly at Ginny, who was asleep, looking beautifully mussed, red hair gleaming in the moonlight. Ginny Weasley, beautiful witch extraordinaire, accept no substitutes.

The White City was beautiful in the moonlight. It gained an extra lustre, a fairy-tale quality that it did not possess in the light of day, he thought, as it glowed softly all around him. It had a magnificence that utterly dwarfed Edoras, though the hilltop city gave off a sense of being tough, dirty, but honest. Harry knew all too well that while Minas Tirith was beautiful, foul deeds and corruption still existed, all the more jarringly for the beautiful city they festered at the heart of. And parts of the lower levels had to be seen, or smelled, to be believed. But it was human, and a monument to the human spirit. His slight smile faded. A monument that could come crashing down if he didn't help to hold it up.

"Harry?" Ginny said sleepily, walking up behind him, sheets wrapped around her body. "What is it?"

"I'm worrying. I'm not sure if I, you, Boromir and Gandalf will be enough to save this city. Sure, we survived Helm's Deep, but I nearly killed myself in the process and it required Gandalf and an army of trees and Eomer to save us."

"The defence force of Minas Tirith is bigger and better armed." Ginny pointed out, having had the cliff notes edition of Helm's Deep on the way to Gondor.

"So is Sauron's army." Harry said gloomily. "Speaking of Helm's Deep, I really need to speak to Boromir about that. I vaguely remember doing something epic then passing out."

"I think… that you need to stop worrying." Ginny said.

"Yeah? And how are you going to achieve that? The twins blowing up their joke shop behind me couldn't stop me worrying. I'm scared, Gin. Scared, not for myself, but everyone I have to protect."

"Harry, you're a wonderful man and I love you dearly, but you are a complete idiot sometimes," Ginny said with a sigh, then twirled Harry round to face her, dropping the sheets in the process and kissed him hard, arms wrapping gently around him.

"Wow. Consider me distracted." Harry said, blinking owlishly, and muzzily thinking that he had two good sized reasons he was _very_ glad Ginny hadn't gone for a warming charm.

"You take too much on yourself. Sometimes you have to realise that you aren't alone." She said softly, stroking his hair gently. Then she flashed a lascivious grin, dragging him back towards the bed. "Come on. We've got 5 years to make up for in very little time."

"Whither thou goest." Harry said happily, letting himself be dragged. Funnily enough, they didn't bother with sheets.

The next morning Boromir took one look at Harry and Ginny's messy and extremely cheerful demeanour and let out a small cheer.

"Hungry? After a night like that you should be." He said, smirking and indicating a plate of food that featured a mix of hot food, bacon, eggs, toast and cold meat, with a couple of mushrooms remaining that Pippin seemed to be restraining himself from eating with great difficulty.

In an effort to distract himself, he looked at Harry and Ginny, and said innocently, "Did you sleep well? You look as if you didn't get much sleep."

"It was fantastic…" Harry said dreamily before Ginny elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh, you meant the sleep. Well, not so much. There was… a lot of tossing and turning."

"Good thing that it was a big bed, think of the trouble if you'd rolled off." Pippin said cheerily, buttering a piece of toast.

"Yeah. Heh." Harry said, looking around awkwardly and following Ginny's example by grabbing something to eat, one of the last two mushrooms which Pippin watched him eat with a somewhat mournful expression.

"Ah, Harry, Ginny, I take it you two slept soundly?" Gandalf asked, eyes twinkling in a Dumbledore like fashion.

"Very soundly, thank you Gandalf. I find exercise before bed helps you sleep." Ginny said blithely, winking at Harry.

Gandalf laughed a deep belly laugh. "So that's what they're calling it these days."

Boromir was now strapping on his sword belt and armour. "If you'll excuse, I have to go and make the Elite Guard's lives a living hell until I know for certain that the lazy bastards haven't been drinking, gambling and shagging their way through the city after I left." He said with a grin.

As he was about to leave, Harry shaded his eyes against the midmorning sun, not that it was easy to tell anything more than night and day apart any more, and said, "Something's out on the plain, close to Osgiliath. 30, maybe 40 riders riding hell for leather from Osgiliath, and they're being chased by… Oh fuck, the Nazgul are after the Osgiliath garrison and they are flying. When and why did they start flying on something out of the fucking Jurassic? _Accio Sword_!" He said, catching the sword of Gryffindor and strapping it to his own sword belt. He had put his newly cleaned surcoat on, and the light armour. The helmet would have to wait for another time.

"Ginny, take Gandalf, Pippin and Boromir down to the stables pronto! I'll meet you down at the wall." He said, summoning his Firebolt and leaping off the balcony, then shooting over the city like a red and gold arrow, streaking towards the Nazgul.

Less than 2 minutes later, the horses were galloping down through the city with whoever could be convinced into coming, and the gates were opening after Harry had threatened the young and nervous captain on duty with a new life as a chicken if he didn't open the gates. Pippin watched from the wall as Harry shot over fields at an unnatural pace, scudding along the ground and pulling around to the Nazgul's flank, exploding upwards as Gandalf emitted a harsh white light from his staff, the White Rider forcing the Nazgul to break off, a situation compounded by Ginny casting a massive Patronus shield over those riders that still lived.

Harry fired off blasts of force and light at the Nazgul and their fell beasts, encouraging the aptly dubbed 'wraith's with wings' on their way, the wind of his passage as he went barrelling past forcing the mounts to pound at the air with a sound like a giant damp carpet being unrolled all at once, a kind of wet thumping sound, screeching and roaring as they did so. Harry quickly checked those who had fallen from their horses in the shock of the Nazgul's assault, providing a merciful death to the dying with a promise to retrieve their bodies afterwards. The one survivor he carefully lifted onto his broom and flew in. As he landed and dispatched the man to the Houses of Healing, he saw Boromir and Faramir greet each other joyfully and caught the end of the conversation.

"… you did not have father's permission?" Faramir said, face almost falling. Harry winced. He had clearly thought that his father had ordered the most powerful weapons his arsenal out onto the field to save his son, instead of it being a spontaneous reaction to danger.

"Where would I be if I asked father's permission for everything? And can a man not ride to save his brother's life without permission from his commander?" Boromir replied.

Faramir's face clearly said that no, you couldn't if that commander was Denethor son of Ecthelion.

And this was borne out when Denethor harangued Boromir for risking his life to save Faramir.

"You nearly cost us some of our greatest military assets to save 30 men!" Denethor said, practically spitting with fury

"One of those men was your younger son, Father, in case you had forgotten!" Boromir said harshly. "What kind of father would let his own son die? Hmm?"

Denethor stayed silent, then said coldly. "And what kind of Steward would I be if I let my chief Commander, 2 wizards and a witch risk their lives against some of the greatest Sauron has to offer, simply to save 30 men? Faramir, you will retake Osgiliath, today. Assemble a force, the city must be retaken, before they get a foothold."

Faramir turned to go, but Boromir stopped him. "No!" He said, voice cracking like a whip. "As Captain-General of Gondor I overrule that order."

"You dare-" Denethor said, going red, getting to his feet.

"Yes, I dare! And, father, if you continue making decisions based solely on delusions and on whims, I will have you removed from office and take up the Stewardship myself!" Boromir cut across his Father. Harry raised his eyebrows. This was nigh unprecedented, a Steward had never been impeached, though apparently the mechanisms to do so were present.

"Boromir, everything I have done, I have done for our family, and Gondor!" Denethor, said pleading with his son.

"And what I do, I do for Gondor, and then our family. If that means I have to depose you and welcome Aragorn as King, I will do so." Boromir, said, immovable as granite, then added cuttingly, "And I don't see how sending my brother and however many other men on a futile attempt to take a city we cannot recapture, let alone defend if we took it, is good for either our family, or Gondor."

Denethor sagged, sitting down with a thump. "If Osgiliath is lost, our last defence against Mordor is lost. Don't you see my son? We _must_ have it back!"

"Our last defence? We have the walls of Minas Tirith, we have allies that 10 years ago would be unimaginable! We have Harry, who I personally saw slaughter half an army, then drive off thousands of creatures, each with a tithe of the power of the least of the Nazgul before being forced to withdraw, then leading the charge a scant few hours later. We have his brothers and sisters in Wizardry, 3 of whom are with Théoden of Rohan, we have Gandalf the White. I know you do not like either Harry or Gandalf, but I _know_ that they will defend this city and its people to their last breath. We have Rohan. Light the beacons father, and Théoden will come, and yes, Aragorn too. I know that you also resent his coming, seeing it as a diminishing of our familial power, but he is an inspirational leader, a mighty warrior who leads from the front, a skilled tactician and leader. He is everything you wanted me to be Father. He is what we need. And you forget our last and best defence. Our courage. Do not underestimate the will of the people when it is put to the test, father. Leave that to our enemies who force their armies onto the field through fear." Boromir said, eloquent and impassioned.

"Aragorn is everything you are, Boromir. A wiser, more experienced and even tempered man admittedly, with a slightly greater knack for leadership and knowing the hearts of men that comes from his line as well a few other things, but you greatly underestimate yourself. You are a great man Boromir, if only you would allow yourself to see it." Harry said quietly. "What happened at the Falls of Rauros was not your fault."

"For once, and I believe it is a sign of the end that I am, I agree with the Black Wizard. The Ring almost destroyed, yet here you are, brave, strong and wiser. All the qualities you claim that he has that you do not you possess. I see that now. I will bow to your wishes my son, and I grant you supreme command of all Gondor's armies, for I feel I am too old to make campaign decisions as well as I once did. All military related decisions are yours to make, and Faramir will be your second, answering to none but you. All I ask in return is that you save Gondor. Save my country, my son, and her people. That is all I ask." Denethor said, his voice getting quieter as he spoke.

"Father?" Boromir said, very surprised at this turn of events.

"Now is your time, my boy. You are young, you are strong and you have become wise. You have collected a series of loyal friends and powerful allies. Use them wisely, for Gondor's sake." Denethor said tiredly. Harry flipped his gaze to Gandalf, who looked slightly surprised at Denethor's sudden capitulation. Then again, it had come from Boromir, who Denethor had always had a soft spot for, so it made sense that he would be the one to get through to the distressed Steward.

Harry then bowed deeply to Denethor, hand on heart, respect in his eyes. He could clearly see what it had cost Denethor to do what he had done, and there was no other response other than deep respect. He may not like the crotchety old bastard, but he could respect him. Denethor dipped his head briefly in acknowledgement, then sending for a scribe to complete the transfer of power in writing.

"What are your first commands, Captain-General?" Gandalf asked quietly.

"Light the beacons and raise the levies. Each man and woman between the age of 16 and 60 without a crippling injury can sign up. Don't make it compulsory, not yet at least." Boromir said, rubbing his beard in thought. Moments later both orders were down in writing, and Harry disapparated to the beacons with a crack, reappearing a minute or so later.

"The beacons are lit, and the nearest beacon has responded, as has the next." Harry said crisply.

"Thank you, Harry. Can you ward the city like you did Helm's Deep?" Boromir queried.

Harry shook his head. "I can do a basic arrow and projectile ward, but it won't last more than an hour under sustained assault, and even if I managed to cast a complex entropy shield like Helm's Deep over that wide an area, it would last at most half an hour and I would be useless for the rest of the battle and with the Nazgul around..." He shuddered and everyone briefly thought of the havoc the Nine could cause if left undistracted.

"I can cast an entropy shield just beyond the walls and hold it. You can hold off the Nazgul things." Ginny replied.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. Ginny gave him a flat glare and he raised his palms in surrender. "Okay, you're sure."

"Also, send a letter out to the outlying provinces, save Dol Amroth. Tell them that if they don't send all their active troops and raise volunteers to march to the aid of Minas Tirith, the heaviest post war taxes will fall upon them. It's harsh, I know, but if it's that or die, I'll take harsh. Tell them also it can only be contradicted by an order from I, Faramir, my father or…" Boromir gulped and said, "King Aragorn."

**Rohan**

Aragorn himself was sitting by the sentry post, smoking convivially with Sirius, who had decided to eat something, when he saw the beacon light up. He blinked, turned and ran like a hare towards Meduseld. He barely even noticed the large black dog draw level with him as he raced up the stairs.

"The Beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!" He called as he burst into the hall, drawing the attention of Théoden and his commanders who were pouring over the maps and logistics.

"And Rohan shall answer." Théoden said strongly, then blinked, staring at Sirius who was nonchalantly standing beside Aragorn.

"Yeah, I forgot to mention I'm an animagus. I can turn into a big black dog at will." Sirius said in an affectation of boredom. He then added, "I suppose in hindsight we should have been suspicious when Peter turned into a rat, since it's based on your personality."

"Can Harry do that?" Aragorn said, taking it in his stride.

"No. Or at least, not when I last saw him. It takes years of study to learn, so somehow I doubt it." Sirius said, shrugging.

"Send out the muster, tell the men to meet up at Dunharrow. We ride to war." Théoden said, walking out of the hall at decent clip.

"Lord King?" Merry asked politely.

"Yes?"

"I would like to serve as an Esquire of Rohan." Merry said, a little nervously.

"It will be done. Not immediately, as I have things to attend to, but before we leave." Théoden said firmly, then moving on, giving orders by the dozen.

Ron and Hermione were packing. "This seem a little familiar to you, Hermione?" Ron asked with a half-smile.

"A little too familiar for comfort's sake. I wish we could just have taken Harry and gone. He's fought for long enough." Hermione said frustratedly.

"He wouldn't come back, not when people need his help. Nor would any of us, come to think of it." Ron replied.

Hermione sighed. "You're right, I know. I hope they're all right in Gondor, I mean, Harry's strong and somehow he got hold of the sword of Gryffindor, but he's still human."

"'Mione, half the people here think he's some sort of angel, the other half a god. The tales I hear, he took control of a thunderstorm and turned it on the local Dark Wizard's army killing thousands, after holding a heavy duty entropy shield over the entire fortress for 2 hours, then having enough in the tank to take on and beat over a thousand Dementors. And after that, he crushed Saruman, the Dark Wizard, in a duel. He's a lot stronger now than he ever was. If anyone can save Minas Tirith, it's him."

Hermione frowned. "Surely the numbers are exaggerated, in the chaos of battle."

"I got them from Prince Theodred himself."

"But it doesn't make sense, the only person in our time who could have managed that sort of thing is Dumbledore, and he's dead, meddling portrait notwithstanding. It's the sort of thing you hear about Merlin doing!" Hermione said, confused.

"The sword could be helping him. I heard that something, or rather, someone possessed Harry to fight off the Dementors." Ron supplied.

"It would make sense, when Harry was stuck with a piece of Voldemort's soul he did some very strange things." Hermione mused, then asked, "When did you hear all this?"

Ron looked shifty and said, "Theodred is a talkative drunk. That night was all Sirius' fault." He added grumpily.

Hermione smiled. "You still chose to drink whatever it was he put in front of you."

"How was I to know he was so good at transfiguring drinks?" Ron exclaimed.

"The first tankard of Firewhiskey should have been a clue. Honestly Ron, I'm surprised your liver wasn't pickled when you got back. What were you drinking?"

"No idea. We started with beer, moved to Firewhiskey, then Sirius started mixing up something he called a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster. It reminded me vaguely of gold bricks and lemons, and after the first tankard, I remember nothing." Ron said, more than a little puzzled.

Hermione inwardly made a resolution never to let Sirius anywhere near the drinks at future celebrations.

Soon, the bags were packed, horses were saddled, Aragorn was dealing with the fact that Eowyn was very much in love with him and trying to work out how to break the fact that he was in love and due to be married to her, and Merry was made an Esquire of Rohan to general approval. Emrys made sure to ride between Sirius and Theodred, not trusting the former not to somehow get the latter drunk. Again.

**REVIEW ME ! Please. **


	27. Chapter 27: Battle at the White City

**A/N: I own only Emrys, the plot and my version of Theodred. The rest belong to the genii that are J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling. Some swearing involved.**

**lotr: Your concerns are valid, but as I have mentioned, while Harry is strong, if he gets stabbed he's as dead as anyone else. In a straight up fight, only Harry or Gandalf stand even a chance against the Witch King, and in Harry's case the Sword of Gryffindor is providing it's wielder with a serious power boost. That is also why I make a point of Harry being taken out of action part way through each battle. Sauron with the Ring would crush Harry with only a moment of effort, and even without the Ring he is a formidable opponent now that he has Harry's measure (Harry throwing Sauron out his mind only succeeded because Harry is one, used to mental magic, two, absurdly stubborn, three, quite powerful, four, he caught Sauron by surprise, five, the Palantir was physically ripped from his hands before Sauron could counter). And the lightning bolt thing was manipulating what was already there. He couldn't create a thunderstorm out of the blue. **

**As for why the Sword of Gryffindor is so powerful… let's just say that it wasn't really the goblins that made it, and they only finished it off with their own enchantments. They just hate telling people about it. And it is even older than the One Ring. Also, after this story, a lot of the supercharging will go away and Harry will have to relearn a fair bit about fighting with and without magic. And when the next evil rears its head, he won't have Gandalf to help him.**

The mustering at Dunharrow was not the quickest of processes, as men were coming from all over the kingdom to answer their King's call. Many regions had sent none, but a force of 5,000 men and horses was present and ready for battle after just over a week of organisation.

Aragorn looked grimly down at the camped army, and said to Elladan and Elrohir, "It is not enough. Not to break the lines of Sauron's armies."

"It will have to be, dear foster brother." Elladan said sombrely. "Unless… you call on them that live in the mountain."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed. "Traitors. Oathbreakers, murderers! They answer to no one!"

"You need them, and you know it. Even Gandalf, the Black Wizard and all his friends cannot break the armies of Mordor alone. They would be an army like none this world has ever seen. And they will respond to the call of the King of Gondor! Now, Aragorn, is the time to take up that mantle. Put aside the Ranger, and become who you were born to be." Elrohir said sternly.

Aragorn looked away and said nothing. "Our sister made you a banner, imbued with love. The banner of a King, not a Ranger." Elladan pressed relentlessly.

"I don't mean to intrude, Aragorn, but they're right. People need a leader, they need hope. Harry inspired resistance against Voldemort, and people followed him into battle, because he gave them hope, not because of the young man he was, but what he became, a symbol. A Ranger can't do that, not at the head of an army. A King can." Ron said, looking down at the army arrayed below them.

Aragorn looked up and sighed. "I will take the mountain road. Tell Legolas, Gimli and Halbarad's men to pack. We go before the dawn. I must go and speak to Théoden." He looked expectantly at Ron, who obligingly took his arm and apparated him down to Théoden's tent.

Théoden looked up as Aragorn entered. He had been thinking about what the battle would bring. His death, probably. No matter, that was long overdue, and his family had long since grown into fine warriors and wise leaders. They would rule Rohan well, he knew it.

"Yes, Lord Aragorn?"

"I take the mountain road. We need reinforcements. Yes, we can beat Mordor with these numbers, but not without horrendous losses that leave us vulnerable to a second strike." Aragorn said abruptly.

Théoden nodded resignedly. "You realise they will almost certainly kill you?"

"They will answer to the King of Gondor. To me." Aragorn replied.

"Very well. Leave me at least one of the Wizards." Théoden said heavily.

"No, I leave you all three." When Théoden looked up, surprised, Aragorn explained.

"They are not always going to be here, and I cannot always be relying on magic to solve my problems. This is something I must do myself."

"Very well. Good luck, Lord Aragorn."

Next Aragorn went to find Sirius, Ron and Hermione. When he tracked them down, having a good drink and eating a spit roasted hare, he said, "My friends, I take the mountain road."

Hermione's eyes widened, while Sirius and Ron looked puzzled. "There are spirits in the mountain who swore an oath to Isildur, an old Gondorian King, then broke it, and so they remain as spirits under the mountain." Hermione said, then asked, "You're going to offer release from their oath in return for service in this battle, aren't you?"

Aragorn bowed his head in acknowledgement. "You are most well read, Hermione, and you are a lucky man, Ron, to have such a clever wife."

"And don't I know it." Ron said with a grin, kissing his wife on the cheek, then frowned, "But how can you offer release from an oath to an old Gondorian King? I was told the line had died out."

"Not quite. I am Isildur's only surviving heir." Aragorn said.

Everyone's jaw dropped. I could get used to this, Aragorn thought with a half-smile, if I survive the ghosts of the mountain, that is.

Sirius immediately stood. "I'm coming with you."

"So are we. Harry wouldn't thank us if we let one of his friends face the supernatural alone." Hermione said firmly, Ron nodding his agreement.

Aragorn motioned them to be calm and replied, "Ever since I have been a small child, I have had beings more powerful than I protecting me or advising me. I do not object to the advice, but I am no longer a child to be protected. The fate of these spirits is tied up with my bloodline and it is my responsibility to face them myself, without any magical aid, for better or worse."

"But-" Ron said stubbornly, before Sirius cut him off.

"He's right Ron. If he's going to establish himself as a worthy King, there are some things he must do to prove himself. Harry may not thank us for it, but we have to let him go." Sirius said in a voice that brooked no dissent. Ron grumbled about all the self-sacrificing mad men he was doomed to be friends with, but accepted it grumpily.

"And you're going to have to tell Eowyn that you are interested in someone else, something you should have done some time ago. Now." Sirius directed this at Aragorn in the same tone, who blinked and then nodded.

"I am already packed, and we set out soon. I will speak to her if she's awake."

"She is. I saw her berate her brother for sniggering Merry's ambitions to fight five minutes ago." Hermione supplied

As Aragorn wandered off, Ron said, "Have you ever noticed that all the _really _weird stuff happens to us? Or more accurately, Harry? I mean, we help him stop a Dark Lord after a series of _really_ odd school years, even by Hogwarts standards, each weirder than the last, and then he wanders into another world with another Dark Lord complete with minions that Voldemort would drool at, lands right in front of the heir to the most powerful Kingdom in that world on arrival, gets known among the mighty and the low as some sort of… like that muggle comic character with a cape. Something to do with bats. Anyway, then we get dragged into it and Sirius is giving said heir to said throne relationship advice on the eve of a battle which will decide the fate of this world."

"Harry's less Batman, more Spiderman. Depends on his mood really." Sirius drawled.

"At least he isn't the Sentry," Hermione said, shuddering. Comics were a perfectly valid form of literature, she had argued when caught reading them, to general scepticism.

"Eh?" Ron and Sirius said in concert.

"Better that you don't know." Hermione said, brushing it aside. "But you're right, Ron. Harry is a walking weirdness magnet."

"At least we'll never be bored." Sirius said optimistically.

"Harry's standards of boredom seem to be that unless someone is trying to kill him or he's causing chaos, he gets bored. And when he's around Ginny." Ron said dryly.

"Yes, those two really get on like a house on fire." Hermione noted.

"Chaos, screams, people running for their lives, uncontrollable flames and major property damage? Yeah, that sounds about right." Sirius quipped.

Aragorn, the 30 Dunedain, Legolas and Gimli rode away in the early hours of the morning, when it was still dark. Eowyn had pleaded with Aragorn not to go, that he would die needlessly, told him she loved him, but he had been unmoved.

"You love but a shadow." He said, as he turned to go.

And as he, Legolas, Gimli and the Dunedain left in the darkness, she wept. Then she dried her tears and went to look for her sword. The man she loved may have placed himself out of her reach, but the same could not be said of her ambitions to be a warrior. If she could not live with love, she could at least die with honour, not waiting for the agonising news of who had lived and who had died. And she knew someone else who would almost certainly join her. Under the guise of Dernhelm, she sought out Merry, who had been banned from going due to the fact that he was too small to keep up and too heavy to burden an ordinary rider. Eowyn, being a strong but slender woman, had no such problems.

**Gondor**

The battle had been joined, for over an hour. The massed armies of Sauron had launched the heads of some of the Osgiliath garrison over, until Harry had made their catapults explode. The Nazgul swept in from the skies, seeking to crush the defensive artillery of Minas Tirith, but Harry had taken to the skies and managed to harry them , reducing their chilling mental effect on the defenders and their physical one on the defences. Ginny had been sent to hold the entropy shield that slowed down the attackers advance, covered by 4 of the Elite Guard. Boromir watched from the wall, occasionally sending Pippin to relay orders to commanders.

'Come on, Théoden, where are you?', he thought with anguish, but kept his face calm and demeanour relaxed but alert, showing no other emotion. Meanwhile, the riders of Rohan were being guided through a forest shortcut by the wildmen of those lands, formerly hunted like beasts, now valuable allies.

Denethor was strapping on his armour. He may have been old and superfluous, but he wasn't going out without a fight.

The Witch King examined the defence below. It relied on a weak shield of the same origin as the Black Wizard, but more importantly on the morale of its troops. Even with the Black Wizard harrying his fellow Nazgul, morale was a fragile thing. With that he picked his target, a young man with dark hair that held a reddish tinge who led from the front, rallying his men. With a triumphant shriek, he launched a dart at the young man who promptly collapsed. He then forced his beast to land and moved to the front of his army. He would enjoy breaking this futile resistance personally.

**Ginny**

Ginny struggled to hold the entropy shield against the Witch King's assault, but her defiance lasted all of 20 seconds as the raw, dark power of Angmar shattered the shield. As the backlash shattered the gates and sent her flying backwards, the Witch King stepped through the gates personally, followed by three heavily armoured trolls. Gandalf was occupied rallying resistance against the trolls and the horde that came rushing through the busted gates, leaving Ginny dazed and helpless, her wand out of reach. The Witch King stepped forward, and hissed, "_Young Witch. You are unworthy of the power you possess, and a fool to try and face me._" He raised his sword for the deathblow, putting his foot on her stomach, reversing his grip on the hilt, driving it down with horrendous force towards her chest as she was helpless to move. Then there was a flash of silver flame and a very familiar sword snapped out, diverting the massive broadsword onto the cobbles where the sheer force of the blow lodged it in place, then a fast moving body slammed shoulder first into Witch King, sending him stumbling back.

Ginny looked up, expecting to see Harry standing over her and got the shock of her life.

"Stay away from my son's friends, you son of a bitch," said the cold voice of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, the silver fire of the Sword of Gryffindor outlining him in a silver aura, making the black of his armour darker in comparison and the tree and the stars shine all the brighter. It was easy to see where Boromir and Faramir got their courage from.

"_Old man, you cannot hope to defeat me, even with a blade of the elder world in your hand._" The Witch King hissed, wrenching his sword from the cobbles with the same effort an adult would use to tear the legs off a roasted chicken.

"Let's test that, shall we?" Denethor said with a smile that would have sent most foes running whilst screaming in terror, and whirled the blade in a swift rondello before attacking in silver torrent of magical steel, striking sparks on the black blade of the wraith's sword with each blow that was parried, often leaving marks on the creatures armour. But the Witch King had unnatural strength and over a millennium of experience with the sword, and once he was over the initial surprise, countered, forcing the old steward back. Ginny scrambled for her wand, catching the wraith off guard with an _impedimenta_, then shielding Denethor when he stumbled. As Gandalf turned to the Witch King, glowing with power, a horn, clear and powerful, sounded in the distance. The Witch King turned, and Denethor took the opportunity to run him through with a lunge. This would have killed any other opponent, and put a serious dampener on the day of any of the other Nazgul, but the Witch King merely batted him away with a backhanded blow, withdrew the Sword of Gryffindor from his chest, dropping it and strode out the gates, remounting his Fell Beast, making for the horn call.

Gandalf hurried over to Ginny, who waved him on. "I'm fine, the Steward isn't."

Gandalf went to Denethor, checking him. "He's alive, though that blow will have rattled him. I'm surprised he's still alive, frankly. The man has the constitution of an ox! Can you take him up?"

Ginny blinked, swayed suddenly and shook her head emphatically. Gandalf beckoned over two soldiers and barked, "Get him to the healing rooms! Quickly now!"

**10 minutes before**

Harry had just turned around to strafe the Nazgul again, when he noticed the sword of Gryffindor had gone from his hand. Swearing, he drew his trusty long dagger and scanned the battlefield. He hadn't dropped it, which meant it must have been called to someone else worthy and in need. He shrugged and dived at one of the Fell Beast's, taking advantage of its momentum and hammering it into the side of the city with blasting curse. As the creature bellowed and sought to disentangle itself from the rubble, Harry fired a series of curses that the beast's rider blocked. Again. Harry swore, and flew up high, looking over the battlefield. As he dived to re-engage, he heard a massive shattering crash from below. He looked down a minute later and saw a prone and heart stopping familiar red haired form with a dark one that could only be the Witch King about to run her through. He was about to dive with a scream of fury when a tall, grey haired figure engaged the ancient wraith, snarling something, deflecting the downward thrust with the sword of Gryffindor which glowed with a silver fire. Harry's jaw then dropped. _Denethor_? He watched as the old Steward matched the Witch King cut for cut, blow for blow until he was eventually driven back, by which time Ginny had a shield ready to cover him. Gandalf had disengaged from the trolls and was coming to intervene. Then a powerful horn sounded, and Harry looked over the battlefield. In the West, shining in the rays of sun was Rohan, arrayed in glory to save its steadfast ally. The Nine turned to face this new foe, screeching.

Harry let out an exultant whoop, and enhanced his voice, "**SOLDIERS OF GONDOR! HELP IS AT HAND! ROHAN IS HERE! NOW GO, GO AND SCOUR THESE MONSTERS FROM YOUR LANDS!" **

A resounding cheer went up as Harry punctuated his rallying cry with a fast strafing run over the army of Mordor, trailing flame as he did, taking out catapults and siege towers with ferociousreductor curses. He felt the Sword of Gryffindor rematerialize in his hand and flew low along the ground, stabbing slicing and cursing the army of Mordor as the Rohirric charge hit with a shuddering impact, slicing through the terrified mass of Orc's like a razor. He looped over to fly leisurely beside Sirius, who was concentrating on staying on horseback.

"Took you long enough, old man. Why don't you get on the floor and fight? At least that way you won't spend half your time trying to keep your balance." Harry said conversationally, stunning an Orc.

"Nice idea Harry, but I have no idea how to get off this sodding thing without falling off." Sirius said testily. In answer, Harry merely levitated him off the horse and landed beside him, putting away his broom.

Sirius looked around him. "What next, oh great general?" He asked sarcastically. They were surrounded by Orc's. "I would suggest apparating or flying out."

"CHARGE! LAST ONE TO MINAS TIRITH IS A SISSY!" Harry yelled, ignoring Sirius and charging at the Orc's with a raised sword and piercing war whoop.

"Of course, this idea is more fun." Sirius noted as he ran behind Harry, cutting his way through any that opposed him, throwing in a spells such as the entrail expelling curse, which turned out to be very effective as a psychological weapon. After the first three dozen Orc's were violently killed, he shifted into Padfoot. The Orc's soon began to run from the Black Wizard and his dog of war, though not before one blow scored a shallow but painful cut down Harry's leg. Harry collapsed, swearing, and only a massive and instinctive blast of light that sent Orc's scrambling away with almost pitiable screams of agony, saved him from immediate dismemberment.

Sirius cocked his head and whined inquiringly. "I'll be fine lassie. Go rescue some children from a well or something." Harry said reassuringly, patching up the wound and testing his leg. A little uncomfortable, but it would hold.

Sirius gave him a look that would have been accompanied by a raised middle finger if he had been human, and shifted back, giving Harry a two fingered salute. Harry merely rolled his eyes, grabbed Sirius' shoulder and apparated back to walls, then down to where Ginny was fighting.

"I'm off to cover the gate. You two should do well enough here without my considerable skills."

"We should just about muddle through. Go on, I'll catch you later," Harry said as he looked around the battlefield. The Fields of Pelennor were more akin to a lake of blood and destruction than the peaceful plain it had once been. He sighed. Such was the price of war. He remembered visiting Minas Tirith once with Theodred and Eomer, and he had laughed himself sick as he watched the two be set upon by the young female nobility of Gondor.

Faramir had suggested they dance on the plain complete with musicians, an old Gondorian custom apparently, and Harry had been roped in before he could make good his escape. He had danced with a pretty brunette called Morwen, who gratifyingly hadn't minded in the least when he had gently told her he had his own sweetheart who he was waiting to see, as beautiful and kind as she was.

She had smiled kindly, patted his arm, and then insisted he dance again, and 'enjoy it for its own sake'. He had deeply enjoyed that afternoon, despite the inevitable teasing from Eomer and Theodred, and harboured a desire to dance with Ginny on the plain, in the high summer among the soft grasses. He looked around at the shadowed plain, the dark skies and listened to the screams of the injured and shrugged. Meh, close enough.

He turned to Ginny, clipping his wand to the sword of Gryffindor. She looked at him curiously, then did the same as he nodded to her. Then he took a deep breath and said with an impish grin and mock formality, "Miss Weasley, would you do me the honour of letting me have this dance?"

She cocked her head and looked at him for a moment, before grinning a wicked grin that George, and indeed Fred, would have been deeply proud of, and said with a hint of a challenge, "Why of course Mr Potter. If you think your dancing skills are up to scratch?"

"Why, Miss Weasley-" Harry paused to eviscerate an orc and stun other, with a firm 'no cutting in' to the eviscerated and gurgling orc. He continued, "- you haven't seen anything yet!"

The two linked arms and dived into the thick of the fight, interspersing conventional, if unnervingly coordinated, cuts and lunges with spell work.

"What is it-" cut, parry, lunge, "-with your obsession with fire?" Stun, decapitate, _spin_, "Do you know _no_ other spells of use?"

"You malign me Ginny. While orcs and other creatures of darkness are infinitely flammable-" whirl, dodge, lunge and _kick_, "- and fire indicates passion, of which I have a lot, especially when you are involved-" parry, hamstring, freezing hex, smash with blasting curse, "- I can _cool _things down if you like."

Ginny snorted in response, skewering her opponent, and said, "Such a _dry _wit Harry! Whenever did you develop it?" then she muttered an enchantment. At first nothing happened, and then all the orcs and wargs within a hundred yard radius, collapsed with unpleasant crackling noises, rendered into nothing more than dried husks as all the water was sucked from them. As the forces of light watched open-mouthed, Ginny frowned in concentration, sweat forming on her brow, scattered the resulting water into large, spear shaped droplets, and muttered another spell, looking noticeably strained as she did, freezing the water and sending the ice spears with deadly accuracy into the chests of any nearby orc to catch her notice. She saved one last big spear for a particularly troublesome troll, which was promptly skewered through the brain.

Harry looked stunned, thoughtlessly disarming and beheading an orc that looked to take advantage of the distraction, and then laughed joyously. "Oh Ginny, you are _dangerous_! And I _like_ that." And with daring he would probably not have shown off the battlefield, he leaned in and kissed her furiously. After a moment of shock, Ginny responded equally passionately, and only broke the kiss to send a reductor curse at a snarling warg, which collapsed, headless.

"Well Harry, since you seem to find trouble so often, it is no surprise you're drawn to danger." She drawled, smiling, still a little tired.

"As I've said before, I don't find trouble-" And then, determined not to be outdone, fired what appeared to be a beam of golden light that cut through anything it touched like butter, cutting down dozens of Sauron's army. "-it finds me." He finished, then added, "and this time, I'm very glad it did," he said, leaning down and kissing her, more gently this time.

She raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with laughter and said wryly, "You really know how to charm a girl Harry. What better place for a date?"

"Granted it lacks the privacy I'd like," Harry said smoothly, as he dispatched an orc, "but a battle really tells you a lot about a person."

"Yes, it tells me you're completely mad." Ginny replied, smiling.

"And don't you love it."

"So I do, God help me."

"They call him Eru over here."

"Whatever."

"So, drinks after the battle?"

"I don't think now is the best time!"

"If not now, when?"

"Good point. You're paying."

"Sounds like fun."

Before Ginny could reply, something interrupted their merry banter. The Witch-King, seeing the sheer devastation being wrought by the lovely couple, and discounting Ron and Hermione as a secondary concern, Ron doing the majority of killing while Hermione covered his back and attacked with a variety of inventive, but not particularly effective over a wide area, curses, as they stuck by the Dunedain, protecting Halbarad and Aragorn's standard.

He turned his steed and made it fly in a circle, before loosing one of the infamous poisoned darts of the Nazgul. The dart flew straight and true, landing just above her heart with a thump. As she staggered, and Harry caught her, having gone white as a sheet, the Witch King let out a mocking screech, and turned his steed away, looking for a new target.

Harry's heart was hammering as he frantically checked her vital signs. She was alive, but barely. He looked up at the Witch King who flew away, triumphant. To Harry's eyes, the outlook was bleak first the Rohirrim had been neutralised by the arrival of the Haradrim Oliphants, and now the main threat to the dark forces around the wall was broken, and he could see the black ships of the Corsairs sailing to deliver the death blow to the Free Peoples.

**Emrys**

Emrys looked up, his vision blurred. He remembered taking part in the charge, hearing Harry's rallying cry to the defenders, seeing Harry drop in alongside Sirius and then peel off. After that all he remembered was being hit very hard in the body with something. He looked across to his horse, and saw the crushed ruin of its body, ribs sticking out in a grisly pale glory, entrails flowing in disquieting colours and blood soaking the earth. Yet the animals legs still kicked weakly and it neighed softly, in a macabre parody of life. Emrys crawled across to the agonised creature, and on his second try, drew his sword, stroking the horse to reassure it, then cutting a fast mercy stroke across the unfortunate equines throat. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes. He had killed before, but always Orc's, never one who trusted him, even as a mercy. He cuffed at his eyes and cast around for Theodred. Not far away, he saw Theodred collapsed and bloodied on the ground, not moving, which was presumably the only reason he still lived.

After a couple of false starts, he stood, and walked over to Theodred, stride getting more steady with each step. Theodred was severely injured, but not in any immediate danger. Unless, that is, Emrys thought grimly as he looked up, you count a large troll that was coming straight for them with a mean and decided untrollishly intelligent gleam in its eyes. Wonderful, Emrys thought. The one troll I run across, and it has to be a smart one. He drew Theodred's sword, reckoning his master wouldn't need it, hefting it in his left hand. He remembered Harry telling him of the two blades style of fighting, and warning that without magic it sacrificed the defensive solidity of a shield. Not, he rationalized, like a shield would do all that much good against a troll's mace. He just needed to keep the fight away from Theodred. He sighed. Time to earn that title. Again.

Emrys, like many others with a sobriquet such as 'The Valiant', took the traditional Gryffindor approach to distraction. That is to say, crude insults yelled at the top of one's voice. Sun Tzu would have been proud.

"Oi! Big, ugly and brainless! Down here Warg fucker!"

**Oh look, a moderately sized button! Would you awfully mind clicking it?**


	28. Chapter 28: Storm and Stress

**Lotr: (you should really get an account. It would make this much easier) Harry had the foresight to take some books with him, and when you're wielding that much power it largely comes down to instinct. Plus, the greatest innovations are in times of war.**

**Hermione is a voracious book worm and they were at Rivendell for over a month, plus she was asking questions of everyone she could lay her hands on. I'm betting 'are there ghosts?' came up in conversation.**

**As for that, it will be a mix of the two.**

Later accounts of the battle stated that Harry didn't scream, didn't fall into despair, and didn't rage incoherently when Ginny fell, he just became very… calm. He had passed like lightning through the ponds of anger, the lakes of fury, the seas of rage and the oceans of wrath and passed into a calm pool of tranquil fury.

He removed his broom from his pocket, firing a concussive ring with his wand that expanded like the ripples caused by a dropped stone in a pond, knocking all the nearby creatures off their feet. He re-enlarged the broom and mounted it, putting Ginny on in front of him with a smooth gentleness, then kicked off, flying at scarcely comprehensible speeds straight towards the Houses of Healing. According to the healers' later accounts, he had dismounted and carried her gently into the infirmary and laid her tenderly on a bed next to Faramir, who was similarly afflicted, and Denethor who was next to his son, suffering from severe physical trauma.

He removed the dart and cleaned the wound. He had laid a gentle kiss on her forehead and strode back outside, his face darkening with every footstep. He remounted his broom and took off once more, flying up towards the darkened sky, then, like some avenging angel or seriously pissed off deity hovered and picked out his unaware target. He whirled his sword once, which glowed with a cold silvery fury that caused a pang of fear in all who saw it on all sides. All recognised death when they saw it.

Then he struck like a crimson eagle from the skies. He flew like the wind, sword extended, and beheaded the Witch King's fell beast in clean one blow, hardly slowing, rose once more, then swivelled and paused for a second. He had probably done some damage to his arm from such a ferocious impact, but right now he was beyond caring. Enhancing his voice as the beast began to fall wings twitching in its death throes. He called out over the Fields, audible even deep inside the city, and possibly at the edge of Mordor itself, clear and harsh as an eagle's hunting cry:

"_**DIE!"**_

Then he cast what seemed to be a variant of the Patronus charm with the incantation _'PATRONUM FULMENAS!'_, his face, if any had been able to see from that far away, had fury etched into it.

Instead of causing Prongs to issue forth and charge through the air, the sky darkened and the clouds thickened as a pulse of silver light emanated from the sword, flying into the clouds. Then they took on a dim, but brightening, silver light which coalesced into one massive lightning bolt of silver power which flew with an almost tangible fury and caused a crackling roar to be heard all over the Fields, hitting the Witch King like a freight train and causing the undead being to screech furiously and tinnily as he plummeted through the air. All eyes, orc, man, elf, dwarf, witch and wizard alike turned to watch the enormously powerful silver bolt smash the monstrous chief lieutenant of Sauron's into the ground with an earth shaking crash, landing where his ill-fated mount had, causing dust to rise and obscure the site of the fall that left a wide, deep crater, vaporising one of the Mumakil that had been underneath. Subsidiary bolts snapped off, striking deep craters in the earth. Bolt after enormous silver bolt hit the site, getting bigger each time as the sky gained a shimmering silver light for 5 miles around, could be seen clearly from well over 50 miles away and the bolts were growing as Harry sought to smash the Witch King into the water table through a large amount of bedrock.

After he launched his final bolt, Harry made his only mistake. He flew down to grimly and extremely wearily to inspect what he thought would be the Witch King's not doubt crumpled and melted armour the spirit presumably having fled to Mordor. Instead a Morningstar lashed out of the slowly settling dust cloud and hit him in the side with palpable malevolence, catching the hovering and tired wizard off-guard and sending him and his broom flying out of control, smashing into the ground 50 feet away, apparently dead.

**Emrys**

Emrys, who had been baiting the troll, occasionally drawing blood, looked up at the glowing sky, as did the troll. Their battle forgotten, both watched as a power comparable to that of the Elder Days formed, striking the black lieutenant of Sauron into the earth. And if that wasn't enough, it was done again. And again. And _again_. And the bolts of silver lightning were only getting bigger.

"Merciful Eru…" He whispered. What he felt was not awe. Awe is for beings that are merely impressive. As for this… people had been worshipped for far less. Unsurprisingly, the troll was cowering, and Emrys, shaking himself, slipped behind it like a ghost. He sheathed Theodred's sword, took his own in both hands and with a roar of effort, stabbed the troll in the small of back. Using the lodged sword as a hand and foothold, he scaled the troll's back as the creature thrashed in surprised agony. Grabbing the monster round the throat, wincing from several enormously powerful but thankfully glancing blows at his back, he drew Theodred's sword. Steadying himself for a moment, reversing his grip on the sword to a dagger grip, he lined up the base of the monsters skull and shoved hard. As the troll tottered and bellowed, Emrys stood on the hilt and used it to jump clear, the pressure pushing the blade in further. The troll dropped as Emrys performed a three point landing, using his free hand to scramble for a knife in case something looked to take advantage of his distraction. As it was, most creatures were watching the lightning bolts and any others thought better of taking on someone who had just brought down a troll with only a cracked rib or two to show for it.

Wincing, he made his way over to Theodred, who he slapped across the face.

"Ow!" Theodred said, blinking, coming into full consciousness.

"Sorry. No water." Emrys said shortly, looking around cautiously.

Theodred sat up, wincing and said, "Where's my sword?"

"In the skull of that troll." Emrys replied, lifting his liege to his feet and indicating the very dead troll.

Theodred blinked, looked at the troll and back at Emrys. "You… brought down a troll."

"Sounds about right." Emrys agreed, casting around for a horse.

"With one sword." Theodred said slowly.

"Two. Mine's embedded in its back." Emrys corrected him.

Theodred looked at him. "_How?_"

"I was distracting it when one of the wraiths did something that particularly incited the rage of the Black Wizard. When the clouds turn silver for miles around and enormous silver lightning bolts start raining down on one of the wraith's, it's difficult not to stare, even for a troll, so I took advantage." Emrys replied dryly.

"Eh?"

Emrys pointed, just as the last of the bolts hit with a crackling roar.

Theodred rattled off an impressive stream of Rohirric imprecations.

"Yeah, he's been doing that for the last 5 minutes at least. Whichever of the Wraith's he hit won't be in a good way." Emrys said laconically, as the crimson dot that was Harry dropped, looking tired, towards the dust cloud, then was caught by something black and metal that flew out of the dust cloud, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Oh crap." Theodred said, face drained of colour, "That's the most magic I've ever seen Harry wield, and that's including Helm's Deep and Isengard. If whatever he hit survived that-"

"Then we're fucked." Emrys said flatly, and sighed. "Shall we go and help?"

"Of course. Nothing shall stop us rendering assistance to our friends." Theodred said.

"Yes." Emrys said, shading his eyes. "I think I can see the King… fighting whichever Wraith Harry pummelled into the ground."

"Father! He shall not stand alone." Theodred said, sprinting forward heroically, then tripping over a dead Orc and fell flat on his face. Emrys tried to hold back the giggles, but they exploded out of him, quickly growing into a full blown belly laugh. Without standing up, Theodred said stonily, "When stories are told of brave Prince Theodred's charge to assist his father, they will not include his tripping up and his loyal vassal laughing his arse off. Is that clear?"

Emrys stifled his laughter and said, "Yes, Lord Prince. I swear to tell no chroniclers of this."

Theodred heaved himself up and added, "No one. Not just the chroniclers, no one. Especially not Harry. You are not to breathe a word of this."

"Not a word shall pass my lips, Sire." Emrys said with a seraphic smile, bowing extravagantly as he managed to collect a couple of riderless horses.

Theodred looked on suspiciously. That boy was planning something.

**Boromir**

Boromir was looking on grimly. Harry's… intervention had turned the tide of the battle, or at least stemmed the advance, vaporising at least one Mumak and goodness knows how many Orc's. When the first of the lightning bolts had struck, he had raised his eyebrows. He'd been surprised when a second, then a third hit, and somewhat unnerved when he noticed they were getting bigger. Of course, he didn't show it.

Sirius had just been staring, slack jawed in amazement. "That shouldn't be possible."

"Has any other of your kind managed it?" Boromir asked calmly.

Sirius ran his hands through his hair and let out a huffing sigh. "Plenty managed thunderstorms, lightning bolts and all that. Any wizard over a certain power level could do that, hell, I could do that, though directing them is a bit difficult. Combining it with the Patronus Charm? On that scale? Literally unheard of. Ever. Not even Merlin managed it. Whatever power source Harry's somehow tapped into, it's not remotely human."

"The Valar? Eru?" Boromir asked, eyebrows raised.

Sirius shrugged. "From what I've heard, it would have to be one of them. Maybe Sauron at full strength could have done it. Gandalf would be a better person to ask."

"It has not been revealed to me who is behind Harry's vastly enhanced power, but I do know that that sword is its source and that is how your father managed to survive duelling the Witch King." Gandalf said, coming up behind them.

"Yeah, that was a surprise." Boromir said with a proud grin.

"Your dad's a tough old sod, I'll say that for him." Sirius added with a certain admiration.

"How does he?" Boromir asked Gandalf.

"Alive, but unconscious and suffering from severe trauma. Frankly, the power sword must have protected him from some of the blow or he'd be dead." Gandalf replied.

"OH SHIT!" said one of the sharper sighted archers, staring out over the battle field.

Sirius, Boromir and Gandalf turned to look over the battlefield and caught a glimpse of the Witch King's morning star lashing out and catching a low flying and exhausted Harry by surprise.

"Harry." Sirius whispered and disapparated, but not before Boromir showed remarkable presence of mind by grabbing his shoulder and gabbling as they disappeared, "Gandalfincommand!"

Boromir and Sirius landed by Harry with a crash, both up and drawing blades in a heartbeat. Sirius bent to check on Harry as Boromir watched for any approaching enemies.

"He's alive and semi-conscious. I am going to kiss whoever gave him this armour!" Sirius exclaimed, relieved. And indeed, the elven steel had held up, dented, scratched and battered, protecting its owner from the worst of the blow.

"She's married, at least seven thousand years old and mindreading elf nobility. You haven't got a chance." Boromir drawled.

"You'd be surprised." Sirius said dismissively

"Yes, I would. I really, really would."

"Anyway, I'm taking him up to the Houses of Healing. Can you look after yourself until I get back?"

Boromir gave him a flat look.

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

"No. Not yet." Harry whispered.

"Harry? Don't be stupid, you need immediate medical attention."

"Heroic stupidity is a Gryffindor trait. Greater need than mine."

"Eh?" Sirius said, and Boromir tapped him on the shoulder. He saw Théoden brought down after a valiant fight and a young Rohirric trooper who would have made Gryffindor any day of the week standing over him, despite taking the full force of the Morningstar to his shield.

"Sirius, do something! The Witch King's killing that boy!" Boromir snarled tensely as the boy dodged not once but twice, clearly labouring under a broken arm.

"I can't! Harry's power residue is shorting out any magic I try and cast round here." Sirius growled back, shaking his wand which was emitting scarlet sparks. "Hell, let's do this old school." He said, hefting his sword. Boromir stopped him, and pointed at Merry, who was sneaking up behind the Witch King as he strangled the Rohirric trooper, saying, "_No man can defeat me_."

"At the very least Merry will distract him, then we take our chances."

Sirius grumbled, but stayed back as the small and valiant Hobbit drove the barrow blade of Westernesse into the Wraith's leg. Shockingly, the mighty Wraith fell to his knees and Merry screamed in pain as some of the Wraith's power snapped back at him and his blade dissolved.

The trooper was released, and stood. Whipping off his, no _her_, helmet, Eowyn daughter of Eomund, Shieldmainden of Rohan and Princess of the Mark said triumphantly, "I am no man," stabbing the Wraith in what would have been its face.

"The sword. Blood of a friend and a tear of one who weeps for him. All these to save the King. Love conquers all." Harry murmured.

Boromir and Sirius looked down at him, up at each other, down at him again, once more at each other, and shrugged at the exact same time.

The King's Guard arrived at that moment, and lifted Harry gently onto a spare horse, which Boromir also mounted, holding him steady as they rode back to the Lady Eowyn who cradled her uncle's dying body.

**Théoden: A few minutes earlier**

Théoden, who was nearby, looked on grimly as Harry landed 60 metres away, then dispatched half his bodyguard to - at the very least - prevent the desecration of Harry's body by the orcs. Then he motioned Snowmane forward. He was the King, and he could not send his followers to face something that he refused to face himself. He mentally sent out a prayer to Bema to keep his soul safe if he died facing this abomination, and to lend Theodred, Eowyn and Eomer his strength in the days to come.

He trotted his horse forward, and said grimly and formally, his voice as deep and majestic as the greatest war horn, "Foul spawn of Mordor! Come forth, for I would face thee in single combat."

"_Challenge accepted._" The Witch King said - his armour melted in places, scorched in others, with small sparks of silver power popping around it, but still functioning - in his sibilant voice, swinging his Morningstar at Théoden without warning.

However Théoden was not born of a line of great warrior kings and horsemen for no reason, and with the blood of his ancestors singing a song of death, he let out a battle cry, and controlling Snowmane with his knees, closed the gap to well inside his foe's reach, robbing the Morningstar of its power, deflecting the chain with his shield and dealing a powerful blow at the point where shoulder met neck on the monster's armour. The Witch-King reeled, disoriented as he faced the first real fight from a mortal since Eärnur had faced him nearly 1100 years ago at the Battle of Fornost, then faced him in single combat over 20 years later. Of course, the second time had not ended well for the last King of Gondor.

Théoden capitalised on his opponents' shock, and charge in once more, attacking again and again, the tall dark figure of his enemy reeling more and more with each pass. As hope grew within Théoden, and the cheers of his soldiers spurred him on, the Witch King desperately let out a pulse of fear inducing dark power. Théoden managed to shake it off, but the same could not be said of Snowmane. In the same fashion as Eärnur's horse had, he spooked, collapsing and trapping Théoden beneath him.

"_Fool. You thought that a mere mortal could face the might of Mordor?_" the Witch King mocked, and drew back his Morningstar for a mortal blow. As the weapon descended, it was met squarely by a shield. The shield of Dernhelm, that young soldier who had fought so well, Théoden thought dazedly. He tried to shout, to warn the boy that it wasn't worth it, that he was dying anyway, to run while he could and preserve his life, but he couldn't get the words out, or do anything but wheeze.

"You will not touch him." Dernhelm said in a high, but firm voice, something Théoden attributed to the boy mastering his fear and pain at the broken arm the blow must have caused.

"_You are a fool to stand between a Nazgul and his prey._" The monster proclaimed, bringing the Morningstar down once more. Dernhelm dodged, and dodged again.

"_Fool. No man can defeat me_." The Witch King mocked, then he suddenly collapsed. Merry had crept up behind the Witch King and stabbed him in the knee with his sword, a barrow blade enchanted especially to defeat the creature they now faced, though not without a price as the courageous Hobbit let out a scream of pain.

Dernhelm, no, _Eowyn_, Théoden muzzily thought as she took off her helmet, shaking out her flaxen hair, said triumphantly, "I am no man." Then she stabbed the abomination in the face. A moment after she did, her sword came shooting out backwards, as if fired from a cannon, and Eowyn let out a cry of pain that mirrored Merry's, staggering.

Eowyn scrambled over to her uncle after evading a particularly ugly orc commander who was slain in short order by a passing Aragorn and Gimli, who then moved on, apparently oblivious to Eowyn and what had happened, or considering other priorities to be paramount.

As Eowyn tended to her dying uncle, Harry was carried over, mumbling something in a semi-conscious state.

"Milady." One of the King's bodyguard said, clearly not bothered by Eowyn's presence, but considering the sheer number of fantastical things that had happened, the unexpected appearance of the Lady Eowyn on the battlefield in full armour was simply one among many odd things.

"What?" She said, clearly irritated.

"Lord Potter is saying something, according to Lord Boromir and Lord Black. Something about his sword, blood and a tear to save the King. The power of love." The soldier said stolidly.

Eowyn opened her mouth to shout him down, to say that Harry was severely injured and probably delirious. Then she shut it and mentally shrugged. Enough strange things happened around Harry to make this possible.

"Do it." She said finally, on the verge of tears. If this worked… she didn't know what she would do. Cry probably, as unshieldmaidenly as that was.

Sirius lifted Harry down gently, drew the sword of Gryffindor and pushed its hilt towards Théoden.

As Théoden saw the ruby inlaid hilt of the sword of Gryffindor, something inside his head, like a song to which he did not know the words, but was somehow familiar with, told him to grasp it. He did, and at the same time, Harry's bare hand snapped out and grasped the blade tightly, drawing winces from all who saw it. Everyone watching was well aware of how sharp that blade was, having seen it make short work of anything in its way.

A trickle of blood emerged from Harry's death grip on the sword, and ran down the blade. It was met halfway down from a singular, solitary tear from Eowyn. The two met, and the blade began to glow softly. As the blood and tear mixed, then ran together, time seemed to slow. Eowyn watched as the blade began to glow brighter and brighter, then grew to an incandescent glory when it hit the hilt, the rubies glowing like droplets of blood and there was pulse of raw force from the sword, sending the King's guard and Eowyn flying backwards.

Eowyn moaned in agony as she landed on her broken arm, her vision spotted with splashes of multi-coloured light. She forced her head up to see her uncle stand, Snowmane's unfortunately slightly burnt corpse having been blasted away. He looked around, down at the sword, then at Harry, and exclaimed in a strange sort of relieved exasperation, just before Eowyn lapsed into unconsciousness, "This sword summons the spirits of the long dead for assistance, enhances magic spells and now it brings back the dying. Is there anything it _doesn't_ do?"

**Yes, there is divine meddling going on here. Who? Good question. Please review. **


	29. Chapter 29: Heroism Has A Price

**Lotr: The sword of Gryffindors limitations come in sharply very soon. As for who made it, a hint will be dropped in the Battle of the Black Gate chapter.**

**439 reviews in 28 chapters! I love you people!**

**In which there is some comedy, much violence and a nascent and hastily thought up conspiracy is easily thwarted.**

**(): On your review to chapter 13. If there was any sexist/bigoted content, I certainly don't remember putting it in. Could you point out where it is, so I can amend it? Thanks for your reviews so far.**

Hermione and Ron looked up as they heard an enormous crackling roar, and saw the flash of silver light that accomplished it. They watched as the first enormous lightning bolt struck, then the next, and the next.

"Is that Harry?" Ron asked, dumbstruck.

"Honestly Ron, who else could pull that off?" Hermione asked slightly testily as she fended off and gutted an Orc. As the vile smell of its perforated intestines rose up and its foul blood began to gush, she restrained, for the hundredth time that day, the urge to throw up. Magical combat she was fine with, this was different. It was visceral, edge of life and death stuff, not smooth flashes of light. Sirius and Harry were in their element, and Ron appeared to be mowing down the hordes with a single minded efficiency, but not her. Still, it was an unpleasant but necessary job.

Ron shrugged. "Sirius?"

"On a broom?"

Ron shrugged again, then set about dismembering an Orc. "Sirius was good flyer in his day."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled fondly. Sometimes she wondered why she loved her husband, and sometimes she wondered how she had ever wondered that.

"Uh-Oh. Ships coming up river, and something about their colour scheme makes me doubt that they're friendly." Ron said, looking over at the docks where the black ships of the Corsairs. "And they've got someone waiting for them." He added, pointing at the waiting Orc's, the leader of whom was complaining about something.

"Well, I think we'd better go over and help, don't you?" Hermione said, grinning and grabbing his arm. With a crack they appeared behind the Orc's and started on them as Aragorn leapt off, followed quickly by Legolas and Gimli, then the Dunedain.

"Looks like the cavalry's here." Ron said casually, then stabbed his sword into the ground, sending a pulse of energy that knocked the Orc's off balance, making them easy prey.

"Thanks for that one, laddie!" Gimli bellowed, as began hacking apart Orc's.

"No problem!" Ron replied, just as loudly, as he picked off a Warg menacing Aragorn's standard bearer.

Another crackling roar heralded another lightning bolt, and the recently arrived reinforcements looked on wide-eyed. Legolas squinted, and said slowly, "Harry appears to be whirling the sword over his head. He is the source… but how?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, but I reckon of those Nazgul freaks pissed him off." Ron said, beheading an Orc with a powerful back swing.

"No mere mortal should wield such power, not even the greatest of the elves has that raw power." Legolas said, eyes wide.

Aragorn just wore a crooked smile. "There's _nothing_ mere about _that_ mortal."

"Oh, Aragorn?" Hermione asked, stunning and stabbing an Orc.

"Yes?"

"Why are there a lot of green ghosts?"

**After the battle**

Harry woke up slowly. He blinked and looked around blurrily. Ginny lay in the bed next to him, and next her lay Eowyn and Faramir. Denethor was in the final bed next to Faramir.

"_Accio glasses_." He muttered, waving his wand. Then he blinked as the glasses simply rolled over sluggishly. He repeated the spell, putting greater will behind it, and they flew slowly into his hand. He stood up then stuck out a hand to catch himself as he stumbled. After a couple of moments, his balance and strength began to return, but the feeling of power he associated with his magic stayed at a worryingly low ebb. He frowned, reached down for the sword of Gryffindor, expecting a rush of power. Nothing, or at least nothing he could access.

One of the healers came bustling over and said, "Lord Potter, you must rest! You were severely wounded and the amount of power you released weakened you considerably."

"Okay, I will. One thing. Has the Lord Aragorn been down here?" Harry asked easily.

"Who? Oh, the…"

"King, yes. Has he been here?"

"No, my Lord."

Harry's voice took on a dangerous note. "Why?"

"Um, the master of the healers told him that he would not suffer an interloper on his field of expertise, King or not, and the King was taken away to discuss matters of state before he could reply." The man quavered.

"And where is Aragorn now?"

"I-I-In the citadel, my Lord."

Harry reached down, grabbed his broom, and snapped over his shoulder as he left, "Look after these people until Aragorn gets here. Eru have mercy on your master if any of them die. Because I won't."

Harry flew up the two levels that separated the Houses of Healing from the citadel, and didn't bother stopping when he got to the citadel, flying along the corridor to the main throne room.

The doors were closed, guarded by two of the Elite Guard and they looked wary as Harry dismounted. Legolas and Gimli were also standing outside looking mutinous.

"You can't come in, my Lord." One of them said, gulping. They had seen Harry's galvanic display of his magical power. And so had everyone else for several dozen miles around.

"And why not? Why are I and two great lords not allowed to see our friend with urgent news?" Harry demanded.

"The Council of the Lords of Gondor has decreed it. Only Gondorian and Rohirric nobility can enter." The other said, unwisely sneering at Harry.

Harry cocked his head at him. "You know something I was told by a friend of mine?"

"What?" The guard asked with a sneer.

Harry leaned in towards him, so they were nose to nose and whispered, "Use your head. It opens doors."

**Aragorn**

Aragorn was pacing. The assembled Lords of Gondor were twittering mindlessly at him, and had used meaningless legal jargon to prevent him from seeing to those afflicted by the black breath, saying that the chief healer had it under control. Considering the man's expression when he had asked about Athelas, Aragorn rather doubted it. Boromir was dealing with the defences with Theodred and Eomer, and Théoden was organising the Rohirrim. Legolas and Gimli had been ushered out with loud protests.

He turned as a couple of loud and vaguely metallic bangs came from the doors, followed by a splintering crash as one of the guards came flying through.

"Of course, I should have said that I prefer to use someone else's." Harry remarked after the feebly stirring guard as he strode in, Legolas and Gimli flanking him.

"Aragorn, you're needed in the Houses of Healing. Preferably an hour ago." Harry said curtly.

"What is the meaning of this?" spluttered one of the Lords, stepping between Harry and a relieved looking Aragorn.

"'The hands of a King are the hands of a healer'. Haven't you heard? Or maybe you have, and are intentionally allowing several people important to Gondor and to me to die. Which is treason." Harry said coldly.

The Lord spluttered, "I demand that you leave at once and retract these accusations!"

Harry punched him. Hard. His nose broke as Harry hauled him to his feet and punched him again. "Listen to me you treacherous little shit, if you are responsible for the deaths of people I care about and the woman I love, you will know such pain and terror that the Great Enemy himself would quake with fear upon hearing your tale." Harry hissed, furiously, then swung the terrified Lord into a wall with bone crunching force. As the man slid to the floor, Harry said mildly, "Now, I think we've wasted enough time."

"Indeed we have." Aragorn said, glaring at the remaining Lords, one of whom appeared to have soiled himself.

"Meet us down there." Harry said to Legolas and Gimli, who both looked surprised but satisfied at Harry's display of elemental brutality, swinging onto his broom, Aragorn getting on and looking displeased at the prospect.

Once they dismounted, Aragorn looking distinctly green around the gills, he asked, "Harry, why did you not use your magic? We would have been here in an instant, and I'm willing to bet it would have been more comfortable. You could have dealt with those puling Lords more quickly and opened the door without using one of my guards as a battering ram."

"Most people think it's a bad idea to bet with me. Then they get drunk and I make a killing." Harry replied flippantly, avoiding the second question.

Aragorn stepped up beside him. "What is it Harry?"

Harry walked faster. "We don't have the time."

Aragorn grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around. "Make time."

Harry's face contorted into an angry mask, then smoothed over as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "My magic. It's weak, very weak at the moment. I think you'll understand why I want to keep it quiet."

Aragorn raised a solitary eyebrow then looked pointedly at the sword. "The sword isn't doing anything either. I think this is one thing I'll have to ask Hermione about."

"Your secret is safe with me. Are you still up for extracting poison?"

Harry straightened to his full height and looked steadily at Aragorn. "For Ginny? Every day of the year and four times each Sunday."

At that point the chief healer came bustling out saying, "My Lord's, you should not- urk!"

This last part was more incoherent vocalisation then word as Harry kicked him viciously in balls and punched him in the face without breaking stride, kicking him in the ribs on the way past.

"The jigs up, traitor. Now if you don't mind, we have work to do." Harry called over his shoulder as the moaning healer curled up on the ground.

Aragorn ignored this further brutality, and began examining the patients, then looked up, his face grim. "They are all possible to save, but Denethor… I fear that he is beyond my help. It is not the power of the Nazgul that harms him, but the trauma induced by the blow to the head and upper body."

Harry nodded, face devoid of all expression as Ron and Hermione appeared with a crack outside on the balcony.

"Harry, why is there a man lying on the balcony clutching his genitals?" Hermione asked as Ron went pale and scrambled over to Ginny.

"He tried to get in the way. Some people in Gondor would apparently rather see anyone who could support Aragorn in his first few days as King dead. They probably wanted to try and manipulate him into being their puppet, an enterprise doomed to failure." Harry said firmly, then looked sadly at Ginny. "It's my fault that she got hurt. She was fighting with me, and the Witch King wanted us both out of the battle, so he poisoned her with a dart." Harry rubbed his face and suddenly looked very tired. "Cue lightning bolts. She shouldn't be here Hermione, none of you should. I should have stayed and laid low in Grimmauld place or something. Then Ginny wouldn't be on the brink of death."

Ron wandered up behind him and clipped him gently round the back of the head and hugged him round the shoulders. "Don't be an idiot, mate. Look how much good you've done! How many people have lived that would otherwise have died? How many lives have you saved? You found Sirius, you've made some fantastic friends…" Ron's voice faded as though he had lost track of what he had been planning to say next.

"What Ron's trying to say, is that in the long run, although your original decision was stupid and impulsive, you did the right thing." Hermione supplied. "Come on. Let's save some lives."

"Hermione, could you please first go and find Boromir, Theodred, Théoden and Eomer? They should be here." Harry asked.

"Of course, Harry." Hermione said quietly, and disapparated.

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to do Ginny first. Aside from Faramir she's been up here the longest and is physically the weakest." Harry said briskly, then drawing out a packet of dried Athelas at Aragorn's querying look and grumbling, "You should carry your own supply."

"Ron, hold her down. Aragorn's boiling the Athelas, and I need to remove as much poison as possible from her system. It's a necessary, but painful process, and she'll probably thrash around a bit." Harry said, summoning a cup and gently removing the bandages over the wound.

Ron gulped and moved around behind his sisters back, gripping her shoulders tightly.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Ready." Ron said nervously.

"_Accio poison_." Harry whispered, forcing power into the spell with a grunt of effort. Poison, a darker coloured variant on that used on Theodred and Emrys, flowed sluggishly out of the wound and into the cup. Ginny began moaning in pain and thrashing.

"Why don't you stun her?" Ron bellowed, struggling to hold his sister still.

"Stunning makes it next to impossible to do, I have no idea why, I've tried. I can't even do a numbing charm, the pain's spread over the whole body!"

"Sleeping charm?"

"No, any magic other than a summoning charm messes about with the poison and the patient's body." Harry said grimly, sweat beading on his forehead.

Ten very long minutes later, Harry leaned back and sighed, wiping his forehead and vanishing the poison.

"Is that it?" Ron asked tensely.

Harry shook his head. "Not by a longshot. We've managed to stop the clock, is all."

Aragorn came over with a poultice of Athelas to keep the wound clean, a beautiful , clean and surprisingly minty smell rising from it.

"Ginevra Weasley. Harken to me. Come back into the light, your time is not done." Aragorn said, and both Harry and Ron could feel a thrum of power emanate from him.

"What is he?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"Most definitely not entirely mortal. He's part elf, and a long, long, long way back, part angel." Harry replied. "His bloodline has certain powers, this being one of them." Ron raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

After several tense moment, Ginny suddenly took a deep breath and her eyes opened. Harry was at her side so quickly that he might as well have apparated.

"Hello, you." Ginny said quietly with a soft smile. Harry said nothing, only kissed her on the forehead and beamed, green eyes sparkling.

Ron had enveloped a surprised Aragorn in an enormous hug, then awkwardly disentangled himself, and said in a low voice, "Thank you."

"Harry, what is Aragorn? I was surrounded by darkness, lost and he came and lit my way out." Ginny asked blearily.

"Sleep, my love. I'll explain later." Harry said, and she closed her eyes, slipping into a deep and healing sleep.

Before she completely drifted off, she mumbled, "Denethor saved me, you know. Thank him for me, will you?"

"Of course." Harry said tenderly, kissing her lightly on the lips and walking over to Denethor and frowned. He couldn't see him breathing. Harry checked his pulse, and felt nothing.

"Aragorn!" He snapped. Aragorn dashed over and performed his own checks.

"He is dead. He was beyond my power to save. Even if we had gone to him first, we would have achieved nothing. Maybe if I had not been delayed…" Aragorn said heavily.

"How are the casualties?" Boromir asked, walking in, soon followed by a number of cracking noises and Eomer, Theodred and Théoden.

Harry and Aragorn shared a look, then Harry said gently, "I'm sorry Boromir. Aragorn was dragged off by some Lord's council and kept away from the patients. I think they wanted as many people who could help guide Aragorn as possible dead, and wanted to try and rule through him, something that frankly wouldn't have worked anyway. I woke up and practiced my usual diplomacy, but… we were too late for your father. I'm sorry."

Boromir went white and ran over to his father. "No. No. No." He said, shocked and grief stricken, hugging his father's body. He then looked up, fury in the very lines of his tear streaked face. "_Where are they_?"

"In the throne room. If you can wait until we've healed everyone, I'll help you beat them to death." Harry said helpfully.

"No. They will be brought to trial under the law of the realm." Aragorn said firmly.

"Fine. We'll beat them half to death." Harry said indifferently.

"Boromir, I can bring your brother out from the influence of the black breath, but you know him best of us all. You must call him back. Harry, if you would remove the poison?" Aragorn asked briskly. Boromir nodded curtly as Harry set about removing the poison from Faramir. This time he was more strained and it took far longer, and after Boromir called his brother back, Harry keeled over sideways with a thump. Ron leapt over to him and gave him a basic once over check.

"He's exhausted, and he's been using too much magic in too short a time. That performance earlier must have caught up with him." Hermione said, as Ron gently lifted his friend onto his original bed, and set about removing his armour, putting him in his usual lightweight black garb. As he changed Harry's shirt, he saw an enormous hand shaped scar that spanned most of Harry's chest.

"What the hell is this?" Ron asked, shocked.

"Saruman's handiwork. Harry and Gandalf fought him on Caradhras and were defeated. So Harry apparated to Edoras. Or tried to." Boromir said quietly, staring at his father's body.

"He arrived and something took a large chunk out of his chest, then I presume he managed to get back." Eomer chipped in from where he was sitting beside his sister. "I never thought she would be so dangerous… I saw her bring down two mumakil singlehandedly, then fighting and with Merry's help, _destroying _the Witch King of Angmar…." He said in wonderment, looking at his sister.

"Not bad for a first battle." Sirius commented dryly.

Aragorn ran his hands through his hair and said, "I'll have to do this without removing the poison."

"Why, you have three fully trained witches and wizards, not to mention Gandalf, wherever he is." Theodred said, hooking his thumb at Hermione, Ron and Sirius.

Aragorn shook his head as he went to work. "Harry has it down to a fine art. He once told me that he had to modulate the power of the spell carefully to prevent it being sucked from wherever it was in the body to his wand. He nearly killed someone the first time he did it, and spent the next three months practicing on wooden model before he dared try it again."

Hermione and Ron blanched at the thought of causing sudden and massive internal bleeding in either Eowyn or Merry. Sirius just raised an eyebrow and said, "Harry's way more powerful than he ever was at home. Some of that is because he's growing up and approaching his full power, and both his parents were among the most powerful in their generation, but there's something else in equation. The Sword of Gryffindor. And I'm pretty sure it never did half the things I've heard about Harry."

Hermione nodded. "The lightning bolts are the sort of thing you hear about Merlin doing, and there's no certainty he was more than half human, and no one is entirely sure what the other part _was_."

"The power in it has a familiar feel about, though as to what is channelling it, I have no idea." Gandalf said slowly, having apparently taken tips from Shadowfax in the art of moving silently.

Ron managed to restrain himself from jumping only by dint of long auror training and combat experience. "How do you do that?" He grumbled.

"When you are over 3000 years old, you too may have the ability to move quietly, Mr Weasley." Gandalf said loftily, and added. "I am sorry for your loss, Boromir. It was his time, and he died the way he lived, saving someone's life. He would have thought that better than death in a bed as he reached the decrepitude of advanced old age."

"But… he should be here. I'm not ready to take up the Stewardship, I need his wisdom." Boromir whispered.

"To use one of Harry's many crude but succinct idioms, 'I call bullshit'." Gandalf said firmly, and continued as everyone stared at him in blatant surprise. Even Aragorn cocked an eyebrow as he finished Eowyn and moved on to Merry. "You have been ready for some time. Before you left on the quest, you were beloved by your people, fearsomely loyal to your country, a fearsomely skilled commander and leader of men. Now you have acquired wisdom and humility. Indeed, you are ready almost because you think you are not."

"Riddles. Cryptic and misleading statements. Is it a drug to you Wizards?" Boromir grumbled.

"Don't look at me." Ron said, waving his hands in a warding off gesture.

"I like riddles, but not making them." Hermione said quietly from where she was sitting beside Ginny.

"Fine. Wizard, singular. And it was a rhetorical question."

"I think we should all get some rest. All of us have fought long and hard, and we need rest. King Aragorn has finished dealing with the patients, and I shall send for a guard in case those who seek to harm our friends do not get the opportunity to do so." Théoden said firmly, ushering the wearily protesting group to assigned quarters, with assistance from Gandalf who pronounced it an excellent idea. They even managed to get Aragorn to bed without being forced to stun him, something that was judged a riotous success, but not before he ordered the arrest of all the suspected conspirators.

Treachery, violence and miracles: in other words, a typical day in Minas Tirith.

**Please click the moderately little button below.**


	30. Chapter 30: Laughing at Death

**And with a twist or three still coming, over 450 reviews, 30 chapters and over 100,000 words, we near the endgame, where the chapters will get longer again. I have a lot planned (including a sequel) and a new poll which I beg you to vote on, deciding who should die (well, I've chosen already, but I'm curious as to what you think). As you vote, just remember. Nothing, with me, is ever quite as it seems. **

The assassin slipped silently on to the balcony of the houses of healing. He wore the garb of a healer, allowing him to blend in and potentially force a moment's hesitation if he was discovered, and kidskin shoes to aid in silent movement. However to any who had even a fleeting experience of combat, it was plain that the man dressed as a healer dealt in death, not life, moving with a liquid grace and possessing the sort of compressed power that reminded one of a spring. The Rohirric guards, not expecting entry from an apparently untenable area, did not notice him. His brief was clear. Kill them all.

He slipped towards Eowyn, silent and deadly, drawing a black lacquered knife as silently as a moth's whisper. As far as he was aware, he was the best assassin in Middle Earth. But as the old saying goes, 'there's always someone better'. As he stole towards the Lady Eowyn's bed, her flaxen hair almost glowing in the moonlight, ivory skin shining, pale as porcelain, he cast a cursory glance towards the bed of his next target, Lord Faramir. Which was empty. As he realised this, Faramir moved out of the shadows that he had worn like a cloak, and, grabbed his throat and delivered a vicious rabbit punch to the back of the unfortunate assassin's neck, dropping the man like a stone.

Silently, Faramir removed all the man's weaponry, tied him up in what he referred to as the Hangman's knot, a fiendish knot that kept the tied person in place by making every attempt to escape from the ropes binding his arms and hands have the consequence of strangling him, gagged him and went back to bed.

The next morning Harry woke first as the dawn rays touched the ward, absently summoning his glasses. They zoomed to him, and he estimated that he was now about as strong as he had been just before he came to Middle Earth, and his remaining power was coming back fast. He looked around the room, quickly picking out the now conscious and red-faced assassin and the pile black lacquered weaponry on one of the tables.

Harry stood, noting he was now dressed in his habitual black, and looked at the other sleepers. All appeared to be unhurt. He walked over to the pile of black weapons, presumably painted so to avoid shine in the moonlight. Knives, many of them, some poisoned, judging by their vaguely herbal smell. The weapons of an assassin, in other words, their owners eyes warily tracking his progress around the room.

The assassin gulped as a cold, hard and deadly gaze settled upon him.

The healer who was bringing the various Lords and Ladies their breakfast and the Rohirric guards got the shock of their lives as a screaming man flew in a flat trajectory at shoulder height and Harry quickly stormed after him, face dark with fury.

The healer stared after them then looked questioningly at the older of the two guards, who shrugged and said, "Go put those down by the Ladies Eowyn and Ginny, Lord Faramir and Esquire Meriadoc. As far as I can tell, they are still abed. We will go and ask Lord Potter what is happening."

The healer nodded mutely and walked into the main chamber shaking his head. Why, oh why did he have to deal with the most dangerous and danger prone people in Middle Earth? Why?

The guards proceeded down the corridor to where Harry was currently holding his captive by the throat with an ease that did not immediately strike one as being entirely human.

"Who do you work for, assassin, tell me! Now!" Harry snarled as the man began gasping for air.

"Lord Potter, your captive may better answer your questions if you let him breathe." One of the guards said with a wary respect.

After a couple of moments, Harry sighed, looked away from his captive, and dropped the man, who wheezed.

"I'll tell you… everything." The man whispered, rubbing his throat.

Harry raised an eyebrow at this rather unexpectedly speedy capitulation. He had expected more violence to be necessary. Seeing the eyebrow, the man elaborated. "I look after myself, and I have no reason to like the people I work for. For me, it's just about getting the money to pay for my little brother, enslaved these six years on a Corsair ship, and to look after his wife and children."

Harry raised a second eyebrow, hearing the ring of truth in the man's voice. "Excuse me if the sob story does little to improve my outlook towards you. However, the King captured a Corsair fleet on the way to the battle and all the slaves have been freed, almost all staying to row the fleet to the battlefield. If you deal with us in good faith, I will help you find your brother. Deal with us in bad faith… well, I think you can begin to guess what might happen to you."

The man looked up, a wild hope in his eyes, and said with a wry smile, "How could I refuse such good terms?"

"Somehow I doubted you would." Harry said dryly, and though the earlier flames of fury were banked to quiescent embers, they could be fanned into a fire storm at a moment's notice.

**Boromir**

"TELL ME WHY!" Boromir roared, alight with apoplectic fury, bloodied knuckles and bulging muscles. He and the apparent leader of the Lords, a badly beaten Lord Minastir, were in a small stony room with one chair that Minastir was tied to, and a shaft of sunlight came from a barred window above the old and sturdy oaken door, shining directly onto the chair. The interrogation had gone on for half an hour, in which an impressive amount of creative violence and threats had occurred, and Minastir had broken many bones and his silence.

"Power. When the Lord of Barad Dur takes back what is his and rules this world, he will need lieutenants, people to rule in his stead. We, no _I_, was to be one of those lieutenants. And I did what any sensible general would, pick my enemies off. One, by one." Minastir replied sullenly in a pained voice, blackened eyes gleaming with malice and resentment.

Boromir looked at him, much of his rage dissipating, and let out a contemptuous laugh. "You think that Sauron would share power with something as pathetic as _you_? He needs no lieutenants, he already has those. You are a fool, Minastir, blinded by power and greed."

"Maybe. But that does not change the fact that your father is dead. At least I managed to get rid of that stubborn old fool. And unless I miss my guess, your brother, those meddling wizards, the Halfling and that graceless Rohirric Princess are dead as well." The man said cruelly, eager to get in a parting shot before he was condemned to the gallows.

A couple of moments later, the door flew off its hinges as Lord Minastir hit it at high velocity, still tied to his chair. The two guards outside looked down at Lord Minastir, then at each other. From within came a bellow of, "NEXT! AND SEND SOMEONE TO CHECK THE HOUSES OF HEALING."

**Aragorn**

"So this assassin has agreed to speak?" Aragorn said quietly. Inwardly he sighed. What a Kingdom he had inherited, full of lies, treachery and backstabbing. And he had thought Orcs were the main problem, but for all their evil, Orcs did not have the outright deceit of men. They, at least, did not pretend to swear eternal fellowship and service with one hand whilst stabbing you with the other.

"He has. I took the liberty of finding his brother from among the freed slaves and letting them speak briefly. Without the search for his brother to motivate him, he has no reason to play false." Harry replied with confidence.

"What has he said?"

"That he was paid to kill all in that part of the Houses of Healing by a group of Lords whose intention was either to rule through you as a puppet or to kill all support off, then you and surrender to Sauron and rule as his vassals." Harry replied, then said wryly, "Makes it a little difficult to see the good core of mankind, despite the fact that I know it's there."

"We must have faith Harry, in our friends if nothing else." Aragorn said, the quiet wisdom in his bearing so much more apparent.

Harry sighed wearily and sat, rubbing his face tiredly. "I know Aragorn, and I do. It's just that for every decent person I know, there are two others trying to screw I and my friends over for personal gain."

"Every good person is worth more than all the power and glory this world can offer." Aragorn said.

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Since when were you channelling Gandalf? Vague and wise remarks are his purview."

Aragorn smiled a smile that would on someone with less presence and inherent dignity be called 'cheeky' or 'insolent'. "It's one of the perks of being King."

Harry grinned back, a grin that he wore when a plan had come to fruition, or when something had wandered blithely into a carefully constructed trap. With the barely contained glee of a child who had realised Christmas was now coming every day, he said, "I just hope that those perks include having a guaranteed excellent wedding night. You've been waiting, what, fifty years? Don't want to get stage fright, do you?" Aragorn narrowed his eyes and gave chase as Harry ran off cackling madly. Gandalf, making his way to counsel Aragorn on this latest development, had to use all his unnatural reflexes to avoid being trampled by a gleefully cackling Harry at full pelt and a half amused, half homicidal Aragorn who wasn't far behind, headed in the direction of the Houses of Healing.

He shook his head and sighed. "That boy…"

Having gone through the rest of the prisoners, all of whom had been equal parts terrified and useless, not that any more information was needed, Boromir decided to go and check on the recovering patients himself.

What he saw when he entered the ward was his liege lord, King Aragorn son of Arathorn, second of his name, holding the mighty Black Wizard of whispered legend in a headlock while the patients and Theodred, who was visiting, cheered the combatants on. Emrys was betting with Pippin. As Boromir watched, Harry wriggled like an eel, but only succeeded in being pulled into a half nelson. The two opponents kept up their combat, Harry hampered by the fact he wasn't interested in using his wand in the friendly scuffle, Boromir sat down beside Ginny, who was cheering Harry on with a grin on her face.

"You're very much in love with that chaotic nuisance, aren't you?" Boromir said, words softened by a grin and a light tone.

Ginny started, then said with a smile, "Yes, yes I am."

Boromir sighed. "Would that I felt such love for a woman."

Ginny looked at him and patted his arm sympathetically. "Surely girls are lined up around the citadel for a chance with the son of the Steward. Or rather, Steward."

Boromir winced slightly at the reminder that he was indeed the Steward, and said sourly, "Aye, the ambitious sort usually. There is often no love in their hearts other than for power or all too often, any thought in their heads."

Ginny raised a solitary eyebrow and looked at him, and Boromir chuckled. "I am aware that not all are like that, far from it. I have just had too many bad experiences to easily trust any woman who I feel seeks my heart," he admitted.

"You could ask Harry. In his 4th and 6th years he had girls swarming all over him because he was famous and 'the Chosen One'." Ginny suggested and patted Boromir's arm. "Maybe you should try looking at those close to you. Sometimes love is closer than you think."

Boromir tilted his head in a half nod of acknowledgement, watching Aragorn pin Harry to the floor, unrelenting as the latter squirmed and wriggled, then said dryly, "Harry would likely spend several minutes laughing at me before giving me something even approaching serious advice."

"No, I don't think so. Harry takes love seriously." Ginny disagreed.

"So I can tell, judging by your messy and euphoric state the morning after we arrived." Boromir snarked.

"Mm. Very seriously." Ginny said dreamily. "And then there's that amazing thing he does with his-"

"I wanted no full frontal display, and I don't want a blow by blow account." Boromir said hastily.

Ginny smiled cheekily. "There was less blowing involved, more thrusting. Harry takes his time getting to the point and makes it _very _worthwhile. And don't get me started on the writhing…"

"Dear Eru, I beseech you to heed my prayer and wipe that image from my _mind_." Boromir groaned as Ginny laughed and continued to watch the scuffle.

"Why were we fighting again?" Harry wheezed.

Aragorn shrugged and said with a hint of embarrassment, "I think I've forgotten. But I'm sure I had good reason."

"When people talk of the King being advised by his closest and wisest friends, they never talk about this. I am most certain that my father has never wrestled with Galion in the middle of counsel on matters of grave import." Legolas said lightly, clearly amused.

"Nor does our father wrestle with Erestor and Glorfindel." Elladan or Elrohir put in. Everyone was having trouble telling the two apart, as usual.

"Aye, neither does mine." Gimli said, shaking his head faux sorrowfully, then said, "It must be a human thing."

"Indeed, Master Dwarf and Masters Elladan and Elrohir, the race of Man is an odd one, whether of the ordinary variety or the wizardly variety. Yet we put up with them all the same-" Legolas said.

"Because we find them funny." Gimli finished.

"You two aren't related, married, performing a comedy routine or any combination of the above, unless I missed a _lot _of very strange things when I was out of action, so stop it with the sentence finishing. It disturbs me." Harry said, having finally resorted to drawing his wand and levitating Aragorn off him and dropping him with a thump.

Boromir rolled his eyes heavenwards and sighed, "We're all doomed."

"And so, we few, we merry few…" Hermione said dryly.

"We band of buggered." Harry finished, and Hermione blinked at him.

"How could you _possibly _know that part of the quote?" Hermione asked in shock.

"Eh? I thought I was just murdering Shakespeare's masterpiece. What did you think?"

"That you were quoting a popular American TV show that you cannot possibly have watched unless Rivendell has cable television." Hermione said flatly.

Harry promptly fell backwards, roaring with laughter at the mere thought of Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Arwen and the twins avidly watching Muggle soaps, possibly on the Mirror of Galadreil.

"Since when did you know so much Muggle popular culture, anyway?" Hermione asked with a frown.

Harry shrugged. "I went to school, before Hogwarts. And I picked other things up over time."

"Are we meant to understand a single word of what you're talking about?" Eomer asked flatly.

"Grammatically speaking, they make sense. Everything else, on the other hand, doesn't." Theodred observed.

"Any ideas?" Eomer asked, turning to the rest of the group, garnering mostly blanks stares.

"I recognise the Shakespeare, but nothing else. Mind, I've spent the last seven years in Saruman's dungeons, so I haven't been keeping up with things." Sirius offered with a shrug.

"Speaking of questions, I would like to know who knocked out our would be assassin last night." Boromir, said, trying to turn the conversation back to a more sensible area.

"Hmm, let's see, who had the skills to get the drop on a skilled and experienced assassin and the ability to incapacitate them quickly and silently? And happened to be in the room at the time? And was not exhausted or sporting a broken limb?" Harry asked in a sing song voice, hooking a thumb at Faramir, who blushed under the scrutiny.

"The assassin was going for the Lady Eowyn and I knocked him out while he was distracted." Faramir said, slightly embarrassed as he blushed even further on the mention of Eowyn's name, as Harry and Theodred shared a knowing grin and Boromir looked on the point of cheering. Faramir's slightly standoffish bearing around women he was not dealing with in a strictly political or platonic sense was well known, and it appeared he had finally fallen in love.

"So, the rather half-hearted conspiracy has been foiled, the assassin captured with the prospect of no more, and Lord Faramir is in love. So, what next?" Emrys summarised, having been bickering with Pippin about who won the fight and thus, who won the bet, as Faramir stammered denials.

"The Ring is to be destroyed by two Hobbits, who are probably still alive since we all are, but they have a small problem. They have to get past Sauron's armies to get to Mount Doom where it is to be destroyed, and the only way we can help them…" Harry said, then trailed off.

"Is to attack Mordor." Aragorn finished.

"Can't I just distract Sauron by flying in circles around his Eye? You know, a plan marginally less insane than attacking him head on?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"Harry, you can be immensely annoying, but not so much that Sauron would send all his armies after you." Gandalf said, walking into the ward, then added firmly, "And no, I do _not _mean that as a challenge."

Harry pouted as Ron said, "But we can't leave the city undefended, and we're going to need everyone to mount even a remotely coherent attack. It would be a bit ridiculous to beat Sauron and come back to a smoking ruin."

"I have that planned for. I have sent four thousand men marching up through Lossanarch and Pelagir, rescinding Boromir's pragmatic order as regards those two provinces. They should be here by the time we are ready to march." Aragorn replied quietly, dipping his head at Boromir, who made a half bow in reply.

"Certainty of death, small chance of success. What are we waiting for?" Gimli said, smoking his pipe.

"Why, an expected and typically morale boosting statement from you, Gimli my friend." Harry replied sarcastically, "Thanks to your inspiring words we can go into battle with confidence and serenity."

If Gimli had been from Harry's world, he would have flipped Harry the bird. As it was he contented himself with glaring at the unrepentant wizard.

"So we go to the final battle of our time, bickering all the way." Emrys muttered.

Soon after, the soldiers were hauled out of the taverns and the arms of their loved ones, sobered up, and prepped for a long march and a hopeless battle. Meanwhile, two little Hobbits sought to find a way through the hordes of Orcs camped beneath Mount Doom. And so the endgame began.

**Please review, by clicking the little box down there.**


	31. Chapter 31: One Last Blaze of Glory

**A/N: Questions are asked, questions are answered, laughs are had and one twist is partially revealed (well, if you know enough about King Arthur and the origins of the Istari, specifically what they originally were and where they came from, it's quite obvious).**

Eowyn had been most put out when she had been told that she had to stay, as had Faramir, but both acquiesced reluctantly when it was pointed out that Eowyn's arm was far from healed, and someone needed to organise the defence if an unexpected force from Mordor attacked, as well as beginning to rebuild the city. Harry had also grinned and winked suggestively, saying that they could find other things to do, such as having Faramir show Eowyn his enormous… knowledge of lore. This earned him a clip round the head from Ginny, who was also giggling, laughter from Ron and Sirius, and despairing eye rolls from everyone else, as Faramir and Eowyn had both gone identical shades of crimson.

It took a week to march to Mordor, the terrain growing steadily drier and more arid as time went on, but Hermione's inspired suggestion of sending a light mist over the soldiers to stave off the worst of the heat worked wonders, though it had the downside of forcing the soldiers to take rather more time caring for their weapons and armour. This, however, was generally considered to be infinitely preferable to heatstroke.

Every night the various commanders wandered around the camp, chatting with the soldiers and keeping up morale. But the shadow of Mordor grew ever darker as they got closer, and everyone was painfully aware that this was a last, desperate gambit to save the world, or more accurately, worlds.

The slightly tired, terrified, but well hydrated army (as Harry had commented in an outburst of black humour that got him clipped over the head by Ginny, "All the better to piss themselves with") formed up outside the thoroughly imposing gates of Mordor.

Sirius looked the gates up and down and said, sotto voce, "Maybe we should look for the doorbell," thereby causing Harry to snicker softly as the leaders of the forces of light rode forth towards the gates.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth, and judgement be done upon him!" Aragorn called in a clear, perfectly projected and deeply regal voice. Clearly, Harry thought, someone had been giving him lessons.

The gates remained firmly closed, and not a sound was heard, except the occasional gust of wind. Harry looked around and sighed, drawing his wand.

"What are you doing mate?" Ron asked, puzzled and the rest looking vaguely worried.

"Encouraging them to open up. _Sonorus._" Harry said calmly, then bellowed_ "_**OI! WANKER! OPEN UP OR I'LL BLOW YOU UP!**"

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked.

"That should work." Ron remarked dryly.

"**I'm not done yet.**" Harry said, and made beckoning gestures to the massed army, who quickly cottoned on and joined in with a large variety of rude words, ruder gestures and many ubiquitous and anatomically impossible insults to Sauron and his ancestry.

"_**Quietus**_. Now I'm done." Harry said satisfied.

"Irreverent young wizard." Gandalf muttered, smiling. "Could you actually have blasted down the gates?"

"Harry, you remain as incorrigible as ever. Do you ever do _anything _conventionally?" Aragorn asked half despairingly half amusedly.

"Where would be the fun in that?" Harry asked, frowning slightly. Aragorn rolled his eyes and said nothing.

The gates opened, Harry's unique approach apparently successful. A figure in crude black armour and cruder skeletal black horse proceeded towards them. "To answer your question Gandalf, I have no idea. But they seem to think so." Harry said out of the side of his mouth.

"Who dares to call upon the Master of Mordor?" It asked arrogantly.

"Us. Or is there another army that you were expecting?" Sirius sniped. Harry sniggered quietly, while the rest concealed smiles with difficulty and Aragorn, Théoden and Gandalf concentrated on looking regal as opposed to a bunch of schoolchildren mid-prank.

"I am the Mouth of Sauron," It said, ignoring Sirius. It surveyed the group before it.

"So it comes to this." The Mouth of Sauron sneered. "Is there any here fit to negotiate with me and with the wit to understand me?"

Sirius made a snarling noise, to which the Mouth laughed mockingly, saying, "I do not negotiate with beasts". Harry glanced across at his Godfather, who had Ginny's restraining hand on his arm. Sirius had never liked to be condescended to, and would clearly like nothing better than to transform and rip this impudent and foul smelling creature's throat out. His stint in Saruman's dungeons had done his temper no good.

Gandalf moved Shadowfax slowly forward, light to the Mouth's darkness. "Ah, old greybeard. You would speak for this ragged collection of dying kingdoms and insignificant powers? The Lord Sauron gives generous terms. The so called 'Free Peoples' are to move their forces beyond the Anduin river and give those lands they leave behind to Lord Sauron in perpetuity and swear never to raise a sword against him ever again. You are also to deliver the three elven rings of power, and an annual tribute. For that and no less, Lord Sauron will let you live. As evidence of your failures in sending puny Halflings to do your dirty work, I have tokens that I was given to show thee." And with that the Mouth of Sauron showed them Frodo's mithril coat, Sting and some of his other clothes. But hang on, _not_ the light of Earendil given to Frodo by Galadriel, Harry thought, something that he figured Gandalf and possibly Aragorn would have worked out.

"Be quiet." Gandalf said to Pippin who was unsurprisingly on the verge of breakdown.

"I see you have brought another one of those imps with you," the Mouth sneered. Harry was beginning to wonder if that was his default tone of voice. "I cannot tell what use you see in them, and to send one against the Lord of Barad-dur is beyond even your usual folly, but I am grateful that you brought this one. At least now you cannot deny that you know these garments. Did you really think that you could prevail against the Lord of Mordor with a witless Halfling and some bedraggled ranger waving a broken sword around? There was never any hope for your cause. Surrender now, and some of you may be suffered to live. Also know this, Greybeard, the Halfling screamed as he died, and his death was not quick."

"Shut. Up." Harry said harshly.

"Ah, the black wizard speaks at last. And I see you have brought companions, lesser in power, but still, you would have been useful to Lord Sauron if you had been but willing to serve him. As it is, you are mere fleas compared to the might of the Lord of Barad Dur." The Mouth, said, aloof and contemptuous.

"And why would I want to serve a being that is restricted to existence as a giant eyeball on a tower, who sends petty emissaries to lie to us and try and crush us with despair? If Sauron had the One Ring, he would not send something as pitiful as you out to 'negotiate' with us." Harry replied disdainfully, paused for breath, and then continued, indicating each person as he spoke.

"You spoke of whether any of us were fit to negotiate with you. When I look at my companions I see people of power, nobility, impeccable lineage and courage. You have the Royal House of Rohan, whose current King fought the Witch King of Angmar, a millennia old sorcerous wraith and your master's second to a draw. You have the new King of Gondor and Arnor, who under the name of Thorongil burnt out your miserable lair of Umbar and other deeds too numerous to name. You have Gandalf the White, a being of such power and wisdom that you could not know or understand a fraction of his thoughts, who was sent back by Eru himself to face your Master's evil after fighting a dark creature of the same order as your Master to the death. And then you have me. I, who faced a Balrog of Morgoth, Durin's bane, and lived to tell the tale, I who fought Saruman the accursed and cast him down, I who drove the Witch King of Angmar into the earth with a power this world has not witnessed since the elder days, I who killed a Dark Wizard of equal power to any of the Nazgul in single combat at the age of 17, after drawing at the age of 14 and driving him off at 11. And that is just the beginning, you miserable piece of Black Numenorean slime. My fellow wizards and witches have faced dark wizards whose cruel deeds and power would curdle the blood in your veins since they were little more than children. All my other companions have been slaughtering your master's minions in uncountable numbers. I think Sauron is frightened. He has seen his greatest servants fended off and destroyed, some by myself personally, by our power."

Harry paused at the end of his tirade, then asked mockingly, "And what are you in comparison to that?" Before the Mouth, whose mouth was opening and shutting in shock at being so addressed, could reply, Harry answered his own question.

"You are simply the latest and by far the most pitiful of his attempts to destabilise us. Run back to your Master, wretch, grovel in front of him and tell him that he is right to fear us. We have courage, steel, powers your master will never understand and the strength to wield them effectively. Go, now, while we feel merciful, you worthless piece of shit. Or I will fight you to the pain. I feel I should explain at this point what that means. To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose. After that, you will lose will be your left eye followed by your right. But your ears you keep and I'll tell you _why_. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear Eru! What is that thing?" will echo in your perfect ears. _That_ is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever." Harry said in low hiss.

Then added with a hint of thoughtfulness, "But they probably do that anyway, don't they? So you hide yourself behind a mask of metal and words that drip foul poison, hiding your twisted visage and soul from the world because you can't bear others seeing it. You serve the biggest bully because you think he can protect you from the screams and contempt as people see how far you have debased yourself in your fruitless quest for power," He finished, having intentionally taken on a more local and formal timbre, impressing his speech upon the foul ambassador.

"You think I fear you and your grandiose words?" The Mouth asked, but fear was present in his voice and manner.

"Of course you do. You're a coward, a craven survivor, something that seeks out the protection of the powerful and runs when faced with strength. You would be stupid not to." Harry replied coolly.

The Mouth looked at the other commanders of the Free People's. Seeing nothing but fell looks in their eyes and grim visages, he turned his skeletal horse and trotted back towards the gate.

Hermione turned to Harry and raised her eyebrows. "I never knew you were a fan of the Princess Bride."

"I watched it once on TV when the Dursley's were out. It provided a lot of great lines, even if they have to be altered to fit the occasion. Looking back, I should have gone up to Voldemort and said 'Hello. My name is Harry Potter. You killed my parents. Prepare to die.'" Harry said in a deadpan Spanish accent, drawing a chuckle from Hermione. He then added for the benefit of those unfamiliar with television, "TV's a sort of recorded play."

"I always liked Inigo best." Sirius added offhand, and then when Harry and Hermione turned to him in blatant incredulity, said defensively, "What? Grimmauld Place got _really _boring. So I took walks as Padfoot and an obliging elderly Muggle woman with a liking for dogs occasionally fed me under the belief that I was merely a lovable stray and let me sleep on her rug. Then her grandkids came round and she showed them the film."

"Sirius! You could have been caught!" Hermione squeaked.

"Oh give over Hermione, there are thousands of dogs in London. Besides, if the Muggles got me, I could just apparate out of wherever they took me." Sirius replied lazily.

"Did you ever have to do that?" Boromir asked curiously.

Sirius merely shook his head and whistled innocently for Hermione's unconvinced benefit, then shot a wink at Boromir and stage whispered, "And they're probably still trying to work out how a dog escaped from its cage and freed each and every one other of the hundreds of dogs in the building then destroyed all the security tapes."

The rest of the group shared a grin, while Hermione huffed and said, "Boys!"

As the Mouth rode towards the gate, he called back with fear and hatred in his voice, "I hope you enjoyed your redheaded whore last night, black wizard, you shall never be in a position to do so again. Your body will lie cold before the Black Gates and she will be a plaything of the Orc's before the next dawn!"

Before anyone else could move, Ginny whirled her wand, clearing it from its holster and ripping the Mouth off his bony mount and hundreds of feet into the air and with a sharp arc of her wand sent him flying, screaming all the while, onto one of the spikes atop the gate, impaling him through the abdomen and practically cutting him in two with the sheer force of impact. With a satisfied nod, she sheathed her wand, stretched a little and sat more comfortably on her horse. Then she looked around. Everyone was staring at her, with unbridled awe in their eyes.

"Well I guess that concludes negotiations." Gimli said with a certain satisfaction in his voice.

"Sorry Harry, but that one was mine." Ginny said briskly, watching the Mouth's corpse as the late envoy's blood flowed down the spike.

"No problem." Harry said, slightly dazed. "Pity about the wasted threats, but no problem at all."

"Harry, your Ginny is the scariest woman I've ever met. And I grew up with _Eowyn_." Eomer said to Harry in an undertone. Ginny, hearing that, flushed with pride. She'd met Eowyn, and heard many stories about her, including her slaying of the Witch King. To be compared to one such as her was an honour for anyone.

"She's not just my Ginny. She's also her own Ginny and all the more wonderful for it." Harry said with a proud smile, while Ginny flushed even further.

"Nice one Gin." Ron said, in a slightly strangled voice.

Hermione looked at Ginny confidentially, then said, "I could have told you how to kill him more painfully. More slowly too."

"How?" Ginny asked, curious.

"Men. They all have one target in common." Hermione said, then cupped her hands around her groin, and suddenly separated them, depicting a sudden explosion and smirked.

The male leaders, Ron, Harry and Sirius included, all crossed their legs as one, or moved to cover their most important anatomy in some other fashion.

"Now I just heard that, I'm not sure if your Ginny doesn't have a challenger in that department," Theodred said nervously, Eomer nodding slowly.

"Where did you learn that spell?" Ron asked, edging away from his wife.

"I found it in a book." Hermione replied casually.

"And not to cut off this fascinating topic of conversation, but I think it would be best to retreat to the army. Sauron's taken the bait." Harry said, watching as the gates of Mordor were fully opened for the first time in centuries, the forces of Mordor emptying onto the Plains of Morannon.

They surrounded the army of the west, easily being the same size as the army that had assaulted Minas Tirith.

Aragorn rode back, yelling, "Hold your ground!" at the decidedly nervous looking army.

"We are all so very, very dead." Boromir said in a matter of fact tone.

"Where's your positivity? I'll take the 6,000 in front of us, and you lot can play nicely divide the remains among yourselves." Harry said with forced cheerfulness.

Aragorn had ridden back out in front of the army, cantering across the front of the line.

"Oh, pre battle speech coming up. This should be good: is it going to be a 'we're all going to die, so let's take some of the bastards with us' routine, or a 'There are only ten thousand of them, see you on the other side of the evil army'?" Sirius said laconically.

"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!" Aragorn continued, and something about him made Harry refrain from the obvious snarky comment, something that made him feel like he had just mainlined roughly two gallons of coffee. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of Fellowship!" Harry could have sworn that Aragorn's gaze had lingered for half a second over the remains of the Fellowship. "But it is not this day. An hour of wolves, and shattered shields when the age of men comes _crashing_ down. _But it is not this day_!" Aragorn said, emphasising each word. "This day we fight! By all that you hold dear, on this good earth, I bid you _stand_! _**MEN OF THE WEST**_!" Aragorn bellowed, emotion suffusing his voice as he raised Andúril, the mantle of kingship truly settling upon him for the first time, the blood of Elros Tar-Minyatur, Beren and Luthien making itself known once more.

"Well, I wasn't expecting _that_." Sirius said admiringly as courage flowed over the army like a shot of adrenalin, and each man, witch, wizard, elf, dwarf and hobbit drew their preferred blade in a rasping of steel. Aragorn's sword flashed in a faint beam of sunlight and his horse reared as he turned to face the dark army. The dark army was still proceeding out of the gate, still surrounding the heroes.

"Now that's just overkill." Harry commented.

"You can never have too much kill." Sirius said sagely, eyeing the dark army as if deciding which throat to go for first. The horses were moved to the back and fast messengers placed near them, ready to fight their way out and send warning if the battle went poorly.

Aragorn, now on foot, suddenly stepped out of the battle line. Sauron appeared to be projecting something into his mind, and his sword dropped to his side. After a long moment, he turned, and said, "For Frodo." And charged the army of Mordor. All by himself. Thankfully, first Merry and Pippin crying shrill battle cries, then the Fellowship and then the army followed him, all yelling something. Harry was screaming, more than a bit of mad laughter in his voice, "Slow down you mad bastard!"

He was not heeded as the chivalry of the West charged headfirst into the rather surprised Orc's. Harry immediately opened fire, with, well, fire, an enormous flame blossoming from the tip of the sword of Gryffindor. He then leaped at the shocked Orc's, no longer laughing, but wielding his sword in a vicious dance of death, coldly silent as the emerald in his helmet began to glow with power and the sword of Gryffindor was wreathed in gold and crimson flames.

But good as he was with a sword, he was nothing on Aragorn and Boromir, who were fighting back to back, Boromir hammering Orc's with massive blows a troll would have been proud of and Aragorn creating a curtain of silvery steel with Andúril, slaughtering every Orc that came within range. Legolas' knives moved at speeds the mortal eye could not follow and barely comprehend, Gimli moved with an unusual and spell binding grace, combining unusual speed with incredible power as he tore apart any foe that faced, taking full advantage of the concentration of power on an axe head. Gandalf dual wielded staff and sword, far faster, stronger and more spry than most would credit a man of his apparent years.

Eomer, Theodred and Théoden, all more at home on horseback than on the ground, yet still thoroughly deadly, formed a triangle that dared any creature of the darkness to face it and come away with life and limb intact. Sirius had quickly shifted into Padfoot, clashing with an immense Warg that sought to cause chaos in the ranks, baiting the powerful creature and snapping at its flanks, easily outmanoeuvring it time after time and exacting a price of blood with each pass. The creature was strong and vicious, but it was not smart, and Sirius had fought Werewolves before. It was a pitifully uneven contest.

With a triumphant snarl, Sirius, seized the one of the creatures hamstrings and tore it apart with flash of fangs, then repeated it with the other, tearing out it's throat with a triumphant and spine chilling howl, then falling upon the ranks of the Orc's tearing out throats, hamstringing legs and tearing at any vulnerable body part. On seeing a troll, he stopped, shifted back and said with a fierce, "Hello beastie."

Then he proceeded to use the same Fabian tactics, launching many, small stinging attacks, occasionally actual stinging hexes before getting bored as the troll roared its impotent fury, partially stunning it and gutting it with his sword. He was promptly drenched in troll blood and was a fearsome sight as white teeth flashed beneath black blood. He kissed the blade and laughed. "I think I'll name you 'Troll's Bane'." He looked at the wide berth he was being given by all the Orc's who had seen the trail of destruction he had left behind and let out a laugh that grew louder and louder.

"BRING IT ON!" He howled, exultant. While he wasn't quite the best at what he did, it certainly wasn't very nice. A set of metal claws would be very helpful right now, he mused.

"I see where he gets it, the madness." Sirius looked up into the dangerous smile of Emrys.

"Care to join me, Knight of the Mark?" Sirius said, and with a wild laugh spread his arms and said, "I'm not stingy, there's enough to go around."

"Thought you'd never ask." The two dived into the melee, Emrys making good use of his dirtier tricks and Sirius alternately fought with the blade or the wand strapped to it. After he skewered an Orc on his sword and much like Harry had done at Balin's tomb, blasted it off, black blood arcing everywhere and the carcass landing with a squelching crash, he grinned at the now terrified Orc's, which were back away from this blood spattered, unstoppable, shapeshifting madman.

Emrys had run into trouble, surrounded by Orcs that had decided he was the easier target. And, he thought, they weren't far wrong. Suddenly, time slowed, and to an outward observer, Emrys began to move with a speed and grace that an elf would be proud of, ducking and dodging, whirling and spinning as he danced the dance of the blade. Finding a dead Rohirric trooper, he murmured an apology and took the man's sword, moving even faster and the Orcs fled from that fey visage and spinning blades.

Ron was adhering to the Boromir School of swordsmanship, minus much of the grace, which mostly amounted to 'hit it and keep hitting it until it dies'. He looked up as Emrys moved past him, a tingle of magical energy about him as he slaughtered all dark creatures in range.

"Hey Hermione, look! Guy's got moves." He said admiringly, indicating Emrys who had just gutted four Orcs in half as many seconds, and beginning to be outlined in what could be a trick of the light, or a strange halo like energy.

"I'm sure he's very good, Ron, but now really isn't the time." Hermione said distractedly.

Ron frowned suddenly, "He looks like he's used some spell on himself, or a potion. I've seen it before when someone's trying to get the advantage in a fight. Trouble is it's hard to get the hang of and has disastrous and permanent side effects if it doesn't work, like every muscle in your body tearing."

"That's impossible! He's from here! Aside from a magical sounding name, he has no magic! It would have shown by now, surely." Hermione replied heatedly.

"Tell that to the troll he's just hamstrung." Ron said laconically, as he watched Emrys casually laid open the Olog-hai's throat, baring it to the bone with a lightning fast and liquid smooth simultaneous slice from both blades.

"We can discuss this later. And Sirius looks like he's having fun." Hermione observed as Sirius rampaged past, cackling maniacally, chasing a pack of wargs.

Ron blinked and said slowly, "That man has _issues_."

"You don't say." Emrys said with dry smile, carving a path through to Ron and Hermione.

"How are you doing that, mate? And don't say you work out." Ron asked, smashing a force blast into the ground and firing the resultant stones and pebbles into the surrounding hordes like a shotgun blast.

Emrys shrugged, and both Ron and Hermione could sense something… different about him. Something benign, but old and very powerful, that made his voice somehow… sing with a harmonic of beauty and power. "Your guess is probably better than mine. I think father said he'd done something like this once, though, when a pack of wolves was attacking mother. But after she died, he didn't talk about her much." He replied thoughtfully, splitting an Orc from groin to sternum with smooth slash.

"Emrys, what was the name of your father?" Hermione asked, eyes suddenly very wide.

"Derfel. Why?"

"And his father?" Hermione asked with bated breath.

"I don't know. He left before I was born, as did my grandmother. Mysterious figures, the both of them, and my grandfather was definitely older than my grandmother, but I can't for the life of me remember his name. I think I can remember _her _name, however. She was called…" Emrys paused for thought, and narrowly avoided decapitation.

"Nimue. Yes, Nimue, that was it." Emrys said after a few moments, with a smile of recognition.

Hermione's eyes practically bugged out of her head. Ron's eyebrows shot up into his sweat slicked hairline and he shared a dumbfounded look at Hermione.

"_No way._" Ron breathed. "You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me!"

Emrys looked puzzled. "I have no doubt that whatever you recognised about my grandmothers name is very interesting, but perhaps it can wait? Until after we have finished fighting for our lives?"

"Oh, yes of course." Hermione said distractedly, summoning water from deep within the parched earth, creating a small lake of mud and successfully bogging down the surrounding Orcs and at least one troll and three wargs, which all began to sink to a slow death in the mud with howls of protest.

Emrys looked on wide eyed, then directed a mock glare at Hermione. "That's cheating." Then he launched on an even more ferocious attack than ever, hands blurred, performing acrobatics that would have any human groaning in agony before long.

Ron and Hermione just stared after him, utterly dumbstruck.

**BlueRoseUK, and all other Arthurian scholars, I think that answered more than a few questions, don't you? And left a few new ones, of course.**


	32. Chapter 32: Fury from the farthest West

**Twist number two coming right up. Ok, part of this chapter will either work or be rubbish, and it isn't so much the twist as what leads up to it. I can change it, though it would involve chopping off a fair chunk of text. Please read and review.**

**Also, I found a rec for this story on CaerAzkaban (a rather nice Yahoo group), and found a couple of concerns that I am happy to address: To answer why Harry is more than a little emotionally unstable, prone to using Dark Magic (which was once. On Saruman. Who had been torturing Sirius for 7 years. And nearly killed Harry. You can see why Harry is a **_**little **_**bit upset) and crying afterwards, is that he's been fighting pretty much continuously since he was 11, the last 4 or so years in a completely different world. Any charity will tell you that soldiers are prone to things like PTSD, child soldiers in particular (seriously, imagining spending your teenage years fighting a war against overwhelming opposition with an entire world of people either hating your guts or worshipping the ground you walk on). Also, any father figures Harry has, Mr Weasley excepted, tend to die violently, e.g. Lupin, Sirius (well, not quite, but he was as good as dead) and Dumbledore. **

**Imagine Buffy growing up without Giles, with just enough to avoid turning into another Faith, and you might get an idea of Harry's mental state. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Sirius and the Fellowship (part of the reason he's so close to Boromir is that Boromir reminds him more than a little of Ron) stabilise him and stop him going insane and eventually becoming another Dark Lord.**

Ginny and Harry, who had been fighting back to back, paused temporarily as the signature screams of the Nazgul sounded, and a wave of cold flowed over the entire army. Harry snapped the sword in one of his by now signature semi-circular blasts, cutting down most of the Orc's close enough to bother them, creating a temporary lull.

"I'm up," Harry said in falsely casual voice, resizing his broom.

"Harry," Ginny said.

"I have to Ginny, someone needs to keep them off the army."

"I know, you dolt. You're not going without a kiss though." She replied exasperatedly, and pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss. The army, having mostly maintained its cohesion behind them alternately cheered and made wolf whistling noises. After what felt like a hundred years, they broke apart and she smiled, brown eyes sparkling. "Go get them."

"Stay safe." Harry said to her quietly.

"Me? Orcs are easy, I'll be fine. You're the one who's fighting 8 undead flying monsters and their mounts." Ginny scoffed.

Harry grinned, then kicked off. He hovered briefly and enhanced his voice once more to speak to the army, as the Orc's still refused to charge, "**My friends, as King Aragorn said, we will **_**not**_** fail, we will **_**not**_** break! Our bonds of fellowship will hold and I tell you now, tales of our deeds this day will be whispered by Orc's in**_** abject terror**_**. As they look into the shadows, they will fear the fell light of our swords. And the Free Peoples will know our names, our bravery and our power, I guarantee you. Our deeds this day will **_**never **_**be forgotten. My friends, before we were heroes, today… We become **_**legends**_**. Why? Because of this: WE FIGHT FOR FRIENDSHIP! FOR FAMILY! FOR LOYALTY! AND ABOVE ALL, FOR **_**LOVE**_**!**"

He looked into Ginny's eyes throughout, then grinned a ferocious fighters smile, all teeth and challenge, and with the cheers of an army of brave men, elves, dwarves, hobbits, witches and wizards following him, he saluted them with the Sword of Gryffindor which flashed in a small sunbeam, turned and arrowed towards the incoming Nazgul.

**Boromir**

Boromir looked up at Harry's speech and shared a grin with Aragorn. "The boy's grown up, at long last!" He crowed.

"He picked an interesting time to do it." Aragorn said dryly, then added, "Are you entirely sure that he's grown up completely?"

Boromir thought for a moment then said, "No, not really. But close enough."

As the two bantered, two enormous, agile and cunning trolls, Olog-Hai and part of what would have been Sauron's personal guard if he had been able to assume corporeal form, barged through the Gondorian Elite Guard, taking a few cuts for their pains. As one sought to get in the sucker punch with a swing of a ridiculously big sword, Boromir saw it out of the corner of his eye, and ducking away from the swing, bellowed, "Aragorn, get down!"

Aragorn did not hesitate, dropping flat and missing the ferocious blow by a hairs breadth. The two regained their footing and took several simultaneous rapid steps backward.

"I take the one on the right; you take the one on the left." Aragorn said grimly, seeing that any potential assistance was engaged in battles for their very lives.

"Aye. It would be an honour to die beside one such as you, my Captain and Brother in Arms. My King." Boromir said sincerely.

"The honour is all mine, Boromir, my Steward and Brother in Arms. And I don't know about you, but I at least intend to take one of these with me." Aragorn said with a grim smile, then roared, "_ELENDIL!_" as he charged his chosen target.

Boromir smiled, roaring a wordless battle cry of his own as he swept his sword upwards in an enormous belly gutting slash. The troll blocked it and blinked, clearly not expecting such power from a human. Then it shouldered the concern aside, and bellowed, trying to crush Boromir with blows that would have cut through an oak tree. Boromir mostly tried to get round to the creatures under armoured back legs, and after a vicious exchange of blows in which Boromir matched the troll blow for blow, Boromir saw an opening and took it, feinting to his right and going to his left, pivoting on the ball of his right foot in short, violent quarter circle as he went past, nearly cutting the troll's leg off at the knee.

That done, he had the time to let the troll weaken through blood loss, then kill it with a contemptuously casual lunge that took the creature's throat and its life. As his foe made muffled and bubbling sounds of distress, he turned to look at Aragorn, who had taken the death of a thousand cuts approach, scoring many wounds of varying depths on his opponent, maddening it into an apoplectic fury, then eventually snarling and taking the creatures head clean off in one almighty cut as it staggered.

"Not dead yet." Aragorn said with a grin, white teeth standing out in a visage drenched in black blood, dust and sweat, looking across at Boromir, and the two laughed. Boromir took advantage of a lull in the fighting and chanced a look at the sky. He saw Harry engaged in a furious duel atop one of the Nazgul's Fell Beasts, glowing with a golden light in sharp contrast to his opponent's vague and shadowy aura of evil.

Boromir leant on his sword hilt and barked a laugh, still looking skywards. "He doesn't do anything by halves, does he?"

**Harry: A few minutes earlier**

He laid himself practically flat on the broom, and stuck out the sword, scoring a deep gash down the side of one of the Fell Beasts, which roared in distress and anger, and the Nazgul screeched, turning their steeds to meet this new threat. Harry let loose a raw war whoop and dived into the fray, dodging claws, fangs, slicing through wings and occasionally clashing swords with one of the nine Nazgul. Three had been downed, one by a particularly daring Wronski Feint, the creature ploughing into the army of Mordor with pulverising force, before Harry misjudged one turn by a fraction of a second and flailing a feel beast foot caught and snapped his beloved Firebolt. On pure instinct he reached out and grabbed onto the creatures scaly foot and held on for dear life, not having time to mourn his deceased broomstick. Then it jerked again, trying to dislodge him and sending him flying upwards. "Accio Fell Beast!" He bellowed, and was pulled harshly onto the back of the Fell Beast. Its rider turned and screeched, then somehow stood, balancing on its mounts back. Harry raised his eyebrows and muttered, "Well, nothing worth doing is ever easy." Then the two, darkness against light, began to duel.

The two fought for a long time, evenly matched as their battle platform pitched and rolled, the golden light of the Sword of Gryffindor easily combating the wraith's darkness. But Harry tired and the wraith did not, and after a fatal flurry of blows, Harry lost his balance. As he nearly fell, the wraith's armoured hand caught him. As he looked up in complete shock, the wraith removed its cowl. And there was the face that had haunted Harry's nightmares for years, the face he had seen in the Mirror of Galadriel. Voldemort, his face twisted even further as he descended further into depravity, more snakelike, with the suggestion of actual scales on his visible pale skin, blood-red eyes almost glowing.

"Oh, come on! This is beyond ridiculous! How many dead sodding Wizards have found their way here? What is this place, a routine pit stop on the way to the 'next great adventure'? A fucking reunion of arch enemies?" Harry yelled above the wind that rushed past them.

"It is not ridiculous, Potter, and I will slaughter you like I did your parents." Voldywraith (as Harry had inwardly christened him) replied, hissing. Still holding Harry, he hissed something in parseltongue to the Fell Beast which began to drop eventually landing. Voldywraith threw him off as they neared the ground with a mocking laugh, and Harry fell. Voldemort stopped his fall whilst stepping off the Fell Beast, tutting and saying, "You will not die that easily, Potter. Lord Sauron has given me leave to do whatever I wish to you before you die."

"Sorry Voldywraith, but I'm in a committed relationship. And the undead are a real turn off." Harry said, brushing off his surcoat and hefting the sword of Gryffindor in his hand. He glanced around, seeing a circle forming, half formed of the men of the west, half of Orc's, trolls and other dark creatures.

"Stay back, this one's mine." Voldemort said, in a lofty, sibilant voice.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing." Harry quipped, and the two began to circle one another.

"So Tommy, when did you become a wraith?" Harry asked, firing a stunner at Voldemort who blocked it easily.

"Around 3 years ago. I was dead, trapped between the worlds in agony, a mere fraction of what I once was thanks to you, when my saviour came. Lord Sauron. Like a god, he reached between the worlds and saved me, giving me a second chance, a chance to serve him." Voldemort shuddered in ecstasy, ignoring Harry's use of his muggle name. "And Lord Sauron rewards his servants. He made a tenth ring of men, and gave it to me. The power… you couldn't understand it Potter, what with your emphasis on _love_." He spat that last, firing a string of curses at Harry.

"You do not know how many fucks I do not give about your Sauron fetish." Harry replied casually, flicking the dust in front of him up into a shield. 10 wraiths for 10 walkers. Makes an annoying kind of sense, he thought, as he looked for an opening in his strange opponent's defences. He tuned back in to hear Voldemort rhapsodising about Sauron, which was a tad ironic to Harry's mind, considering he had once wanted to be an immortal god and had bowed to no one. That could be explained by the fact that normally the Rings of Men took years to act, and Sauron could just have forced his will upon Voldemort's to speed up his transformation.

"He judged me a worthy vessel of some of his power, a power that exceeds that of any Witch or Wizard who ever lived. And it is glorious. Power is all that matters. There is no good, no evil, just power. You should try it, Potter." Voldemort said, in a tone of absolute and creepy devotion. It was like how Bellatrix had acted towards to Voldemort himself, which added a whole new layer of creepy to the situation, Harry thought with a shudder.

"Spare me the recruitment speech. It always goes, 'Power blah blah Power, blah Immortality blah eternal rule together blah'." Harry said contemptuously, dropping and rolling to avoid a killing curse which struck an Orc behind him. Harry turned and laughed as he fired off fireball and a stunning curse in reply. "You might want to cut down on the collateral damage, Tommy boy." Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Sirius had constructed a magical shield, preventing the worst of the curses getting through, but the Orcs had no such defence.

"What's happening? Who is Harry fighting?" Aragorn asked Gandalf grimly. The entire battle seemed to have stopped, all watching the duel which continued below, hails of knives, storms of fire and innumerable flashing lights came between the two combatants, Harry cracking off as many jokes and insults as he could, which were slowly beginning to affect Voldemort, who suddenly lunged forward in a roar of anger, sword raised over his head, slashing enormous haymakers of blows, while Harry was singing a made up ditty, "For he's a second rate villain and we all laugh at him," to the rather off key tune of 'He's Jolly Good Fellow', and "he's Sauron's bitch," to no identifiable tune whatsoever, at the top of his voice, whilst dodging the clumsy slashes and tripping up Voldemort as he passed, derisively saying that at least Saruman had been a _challenge_.

"His old nemesis, who apparently was not quite as dead as was thought." Gandalf replied.

"Why doesn't he finish him?" Boromir snarled, frustrated.

"He seeks to humiliate Voldemort, to show the disparity in their current ability and thereby demoralise Sauron's army." Gandalf said calmly.

"And because he enjoys it." Eomer muttered.

"That too." Gandalf conceded.

The duel carried on for another whole hour, curses flying back and forth, neither side gaining the advantage, occasionally degenerating into a contest of swordsmanship. Harry was the superior in sword skill by a long way, but physically weaker and the duel was further confused by the regular use of apparition by both parties. Eventually, it ended.

"You've gone downhill, Tommy, my boy, I'm disappointed. I would offer you a chance to repent, but when was that ever going to happen? You're an unrepentant fool who's yesterday's news and doesn't know it!" Harry taunted disapparating away and firing an _incarcerus _at Voldemort. Voldemort snarled in rage, and changed into black mist, flowing like a shadow across the gap between them, grabbing Harry by the throat and taking him up into the air. When they stopped, high above the battlefield, Voldemort held Harry by the throat in a vicelike grip, and shoved his sword between Harry's ribs. "So it ends, Potter, at last. You will be remembered as the fool who dared to cross Sauron and Voldemort." Voldemort said triumphantly. Harry wheezed. "What was that?" Voldemort said mockingly, placing the side of his head next to Harry's mouth.

"Look… down… _Bitch_," Harry whispered.

"Wh-" Voldemort was interrupted by the sword of Gryffindor being shoved into his stomach, and flaring brighter than the sun it began burning into the corrupted Wizard's wraith essence, the power of the Valar flowing through Harry to cleanse Middle Earth of a great evil.

"You got that right, bastard." Harry snarled, wrenching the sword clear. Voldemort did not reply, as he was too busy burning into ash, too fast even to perform a cliché scream of 'NO!' or 'Inconceivable!' Unfortunately this meant Harry now had nothing keeping him in the air, and like most wizards, couldn't fly minus a broomstick.

The armies of the west, cheered as the newest wraith of Sauron burnt to cinders, then froze in horror as one of their brightest hopes fell agonisingly slowly from the sky, the light around him dimming as he hit the ground with a final thump. Sirius who had been fighting nearby as Padfoot, the battle having recommenced when the two took to the air, bounded over and held off all comers with ferocious snarls and flashing fangs. When a guard of soldiers formed around him and Harry, he began to howl mournfully. Ginny ran over, and when she saw Harry, barely breathing, she knelt down beside him and removed his helmet.

"Ginny… you're here… I always… feared… you wouldn't… be here… when I died…" Harry whispered, coughing up some blood.

"Don't talk, it's too much effort. Stay with me Harry, please, please don't go." Ginny said, tears forming in her eyes.

"I'm dying… Ginny. My… time is up. I'm… sorry. I would… have loved to… settle down with you… raise a family…" Harry smiled weakly. "I… would have… called… the first boy… James Sirius… the first girl… Lily… Luna… A bit…silly… really." Ginny blinked and squeezed his hand reflexively.

"And you still will! Please, don't die!" She said, desperation in her voice.

"Don't be daft Harry, you're not dying! It takes more than a sword in the guts to kill a Potter, especially from a pansy like Voldemort." Sirius said encouragingly, having changed back, grabbing a hold of Harry's other hand, then added slightly puzzled, "He barely lasted any time at all actually. A bit anti-climactic really, especially compared to last time he was around."

"He's right mate, you survived a Basilisk! A puny sword has nothing on a Basilisk!" Ron said, he and Hermione having fought their way over.

"Good thing too… persistent bastard… will get what… he deserves….He was a… young… wraith… and very stupid. Easy… to kill. Cut price… ring of power." Harry muttered.

"Harry means that a ring of power made when Sauron was in this diminished state would be far weaker than any of the original Nine Rings of Men, and that this Voldemort was young for a wraith, and weak with it." Gandalf explained to a puzzled Sirius.

"Come on Harry, you're the hero! Make like Westley! Please…" Hermione said, voice trembling.

"Call… Miracle Max… Failing that… a Phoenix… and an onion" Harry mumbled, and Hermione let out a laughing sob.

Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship had fought their way over, Theodred and Eomer close behind.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf who shook his head slightly. It was the way of the Maiar to know of impending death, and Harry's was coming as surely as the world's ending.

"Come on Laddie, we'll need ye to mediate in the orc killing contest. And the drinking matches!" Gimli said, voice strained.

"Easy… I won… _again_… and… you're… never… going to… outdrink Legolas…" Harry said, smiling slightly.

"Harry, you saved my life, it would be a poor repayment if you died right in front of me." Theodred said in a painfully false jocular voice.

"Mine too!" Pippin chipped in desperately.

"Sorry… can't help… there." Harry said with a faint grin, his eyes half closed. "Goodbye… Ginny… all of you… Say goodbye… to everyone… for me… Ginny… I… love…you." Then he frowned slightly, and coughed up some more blood. "I feel… so… _cold_…" He added, sounding confused, then his eyes shut, his heart beat its last and his final breath escaped him. And Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the saviour of the Wizarding World and the Lord Moristar, was dead.

Tears rolled down people's faces, and despair spread over the army. Their most powerful asset had been smote down by the forces of darkness, which let out mocking laughs and screeches, laughing and revelling in their grief. Hermione rested her head against Ron's shoulder, her shoulders shaking with sobs as he stared at his friends corpse in numb disbelief, Theodred and Eomer bowed their heads, Gimli's beard was matted by tears, Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir said prayers in Sindarin, tears on their faces, Emrys' white aura dimmed to a flickering light more reminiscent of a weak LED than the strong glow it had been earlier, revealing inexplicable dark golden hair and an inhuman cast to his face that made him look disconcertingly like Legolas minus the point ears and with a certain additional sturdiness that spoke of the race of Men, and Aragorn looked… his expression was a mix of rage and sadness that defied the written word. Sirius' face went white, and he let out an inhuman howl of sorrow. Gandalf suddenly looked a lot older and very tired as he lent on his staff and Pippin just cried, and cried.

"Maybe… maybe he's playing dead. He did that once, to deceive Voldemort." Ron said, grasping at straws.

"No, not even Harry's sense of humour is that sick." Theodred said with a watery chuckle.

"Can the sword do anything?" Théoden asked half-heartedly. In answer Ron picked it up and hefted it experimentally.

"No. There's power there, enormous power, but I think only Harry could access it. To everyone else, it's just a slightly magical sword." Ron said grimly.

A small moth fluttered in front of Gandalf's face, and then the cry went up, a wild, hopeful cry. "The eagles are coming!"

The great eagles hammered the remaining Nazgul, tearing at their beasts and causing them to fall, while two of the remaining beasts retreated to Mordor. The Eagles then peeled off for some reason, as the middle of the three fallen Nazgul stood and pointed at Harry with an armoured finger.

"Something of ours is buried in your friend's body," It hissed mockingly, intelligible even from so far over the roar of battle, "and we will take it as we take your lives."

Everyone drew their swords and levelled them without hesitation at Nazgul. "Come and take them," Aragorn said quietly.

This display of bravery and loyalty was, however, immediately rendered unnecessary.

Ginny, who had been silent until then, picked up the sword of Gryffindor and said quietly, "No."

Then she pointed it at the sky with an utterly primal scream of rage and grief. The sword pulsed once with a deep ruby light as her cry rang out over the battlefield, echoing and reverberating deep within the clouds. And the skies answered her. There was an ominous rumble, and at her behest three massive tornadoes descended from the sky, and began tearing the dark army apart, picking up dust and steel as they went, scouring and slicing all their hapless victims. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the Nazgul hissed and screeched, taken aback by this turn of events.

She stumbled, then Gandalf stepped forward and helped her stand, then put his hand on her shoulder and Narya flashed with deep red fire, the magic imbued in it by the Silver Fist, Celebrimbor of Eregion - a smith second only to his grandfather Feanor in the entire history of Arda - reawakening and responding to his grandfather's similar enchantments in the Sword. Emrys hesitantly put his right hand on her other shoulder, his white aura flashing like a second su,n as otherworldly power poured from him into Ginny. The Sword of Gryffindor responded with another pulse of light, outlining Ginny in a red gold glow, her eyes flashing a bright gold that seeped into the tears that still fell. Ginny stood tall once more, lowered the sword to point at the middle one of the whirlwinds she had created and whispered, "_Burn_."

The whirlwinds became firestorms, the dust that had been sucked into them catching alight, blazing with a ferocious red and gold flame, scorching all that strayed too close to ash and melting all the metal to molten slag. The Nazgul's screams became panicked, and then cut off as all three were sucked into separate vortices of fire and light, which briefly flashed with a blinding white heat that fried many of the remaining Orc's. Warg's, Orc's, Trolls, Haradrim and Easterling's were all sucked into the greedy flames, screeching horribly. Ginny's face remained a mask of controlled fury, eyes flashing, hair flapping like a battle standard, as she guided the conflagration of destruction at the army of Mordor. The air around became so dry that static electrical charges formed, arcing lightning bolts to rain yet more destruction on the armies of Mordor. Any water in the clouds that was caught up immediately turned to steam, inflicting further agony on those who felt her wrath. It was an army's nightmare, to be faced by a manifestation of all four elements controlled by one at the height of their fury. Artist's would have killed to paint her, many would have worshipped her as a reborn goddess of War, hair the colour of fire sparking with static electrical charges, armour the colour of blood and steel, a cold, harsh beauty animated by her fury. The Morrigan and all the other Goddesses of Death and War throughout the ages had nothing on Ginny Weasley in her moment of grief. She was Death incarnate, and death came at her call and the armies of men knelt before her.

Finally she fell to her knee's, utterly spent, the sword falling to the ground with a clank and she began to weep, a small and utterly heart wrenching sound.

Hermione knelt down next to her and hugged her, while the rest looked utterly stunned at the sheer destruction unleashed by Ginny Weasley's elemental fury. Even Gandalf looked shocked.

"I never saw anything such as this… not since the First Age and the War of Wrath." The White Wizard said quietly, for he and Emrys had only sustained and helped her channel the power that had flowed through her in a vast torrent. He looked carefully at Ginny. In truth, when both Harry and Ginny had loosed their power to its greatest extent, he felt the slightest touch of the sort of power he associated with the Ainur, and wondered if they had Maia ancestry. Certainly there was something odd about Theodred's young bodyguard, Emrys, whose very being sung a familiar song of thoroughly immortal and recently awakened power, interwoven with the alien harmonies of the power Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Sirius, albeit relatively dormant.

Mind you, much of the raw power he had felt in Ginny had come from the sword itself, which was infinitely more powerful than any mere weapon had a right to be. All three would certainly explain a lot. He dismissed the idle thought as the tower of Barad Dur fell, its foundations crumbling as they were no longer sustained by the One Ring, the Great Eye burning furiously, then imploding with incredible force. Sauron, the terror of the Third Age of the world and Morgoth's chief lieutenant, was dead or as good as. Frodo and Sam had destroyed the Ring.

He smiled as the army cheered, yelling their throats out, joy mixed with sadness. The only one who didn't share in the jubilation was Ginny, who just cradled Harry's corpse and cried. Mount Doom suddenly erupted, making Ginny's tornadoes looking puny by comparison, and the armies of Mordor fled, falling into the cracks in the earth caused by Sauron's destruction. The hearts of the Fellowship collectively stopped. Frodo. Sam.

Gandalf commandeered several of the eagles, and soon returned with their bodies, alive, but terribly weak. He flew them on to the city to receive treatment.

The rest of the army arrived back at Minas Tirith a week later, tired but triumphant, and received a collective hero's welcome. Harry was transported frozen, and his tomb was made of white marble, lions and flowers carved into it by a tearful Hermione and Gimli. With Ron's help, she constructed a marble statue, standing by the tomb, Harry in armour, surcoat and hair flapping in an unseen wind, sword and wand in hand, helmet by his feet and a devil-may-care grin on his face, eyes fixed on some distant horizon. Hermione also managed to cast a flame of Gulbraithian fire, albeit a small one, a flame that would burn forever as a monument to his courage and pyrotechnic, kill-it-with-fire tendencies. He was entombed less than two days after - dressed in full armour, sword at his hip and the blood cleaned away- in a moving ceremony, his coffin carried by Ron, Aragorn, Boromir and Theodred, where Legolas, Eowyn, Sirius and surprisingly Pippin sang in a spontaneous and haunting refrain, disparate voices somehow melding into a perfect harmony, a wordless goodbye to the best of friends.

Other heroes were buried and the Free Peoples of Middle Earth held a wake for the victorious dead. And at last, Harry James Potter was at peace.

**A couple of already written chapters to go. Please Review.**


	33. Chapter 33: Remembering Harry

**A filler chapter detailing the reaction to Harry's death. Do not worry, the story is not over and there are at least three more chapters to go.**

**Several days earlier: Harry's funeral**

The tomb had been made, and Harry's body had been carried in state through the citadel to the tomb of Kings and Stewards and had been laid in his painstakingly designed tomb, designed by a grateful and grieving populace. Each of Harry's closest friends had chosen to read the tale of how they had first met him. Aragorn went first.

**The King's tale**

I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, first met Harry nearly five years ago in the forest outside Bree. I was the very first person he met in Middle Earth. His sudden and inexplicable appearance in front of me caused me to hold him in suspicion until he disarmed me and in an astonishing show of trust, opened his mind to me when I was at his mercy. And what I saw would bring tears of sorrow and rage to any right thinking person. I saw the cruelty with which he had so often been treated by those who were entrusted with his guardianship, and those who sought to spread evil across the land. And I saw wonder there, the man he was and the man he would become. I know that I am uniquely privileged among mortals to have seen such sights, and I thank Eru daily that he gifted me that night with the friendship of a man who was to become one of my closest friends and comrades. That night we fought side by side and I witnessed what was a brief glimpse of his power in that battle. He fought alongside me, saving my life many times, he drank with me, he laughed with me and comforted me in my melancholy as I did for him. I stood by him as he built a fearsome reputation for himself, hunting the Nine time after time, driving them away from their intended victims. I watched as he found love in a beautiful, clever and kind woman, Ginevra Weasley, a Witch of immense power in her own right. I watched as he died destroying a foe that threatened us all.

To finish, a man could have wished for no more loyal an ally, no greater a friend, no wiser an adviser, if one often lacking in the arts of tact. And so I bid a bittersweet farewell to one of my greatest friends. Goodbye and Valar bless you, Harry Potter, the Lord Moristar, the Black Wizard, the Wizard in the Shadows, the Fury of the Storm and hero to us all.

**The Prince's tale**

I, Prince Theodred son of Théoden, met Harry whilst riding on patrol in far Western Rohan at the Fords of Isen three and a half years ago. That location was where I nearly met my death, and consequently holds mixed emotions for me, but this memory I shall cherish. My patrol came across Harry as he apparated to the Eastern back and demanded his identity. Clearly having travelled some way, as his grasp of apparition and knowledge of the West of Middle Earth was yet to be half as extensive as it was to become, his mood was a foul one, as was his general state.

I asked nervously, frightened by the obvious and casual use of magic by one I did not know, "Who goes there?"

"None of your business." He replied grumpily.

"It is my business for I am the Crown Prince of Rohan, into whose lands you have strayed. I would have your name and your apology for your discourtesy." I said, trying to force some steel into my voice to frighten this stubborn stranger who I had just noticed was garbed all in black, in the style of the Dunedain rangers of the North. Knowing the Rangers to be an oft taciturn, but good sort, I moderated my tone and asked, "Are you of the Dunedain from the North, a Ranger who explores these lands?"

He looked at me with amusement in those green eyes and said in that maddening tone I was to become so familiar with, "Maybe."

At this point I lost my temper and drew my sword, saying, "I will have your name and purpose in Rohan or I will have your life!"

He barely moved, save to draw the wand of his and disarm me with naught but a word and a flick of his rest. The power of the spell knocked me off my horse, and moved to stand with one foot on my chest, warning off my men who had come forth to protect me.

"That wasn't very nice, now was it? If you are so desperate to have my name, you may have it: My name is Harry James Potter, and my purposes are my own, though I mean no harm to you or your house, unless you seek to impede or harm me." He said calmly, then reached down his free hand, which I accepted reluctantly. He promptly hauled me to my feet, showing astonishing strength in doing so, for I am not the smallest of mortals, and fully armoured. He looked at me and asked thoughtfully, "Can you point me in the direction of Edoras? Gandalf told me that I could go from there to Gondor. My ultimate goal is the city of Minas Tirith."

I nodded, and said ruefully, "If you had mentioned you were a friend of Gandalf's, this could have been over much more easily."

He then flashed me one of those stunning smiles and said, "But far less fun."

I then cleared my throat and said, "In recompense for the wrongs I have done you, friend of Gandalf, I would offer you our spare horse and passage to Edoras."

He then blushed and nodded his thanks.

We rode to Edoras, his wit lightening the way. My cousin Eowyn fell in love with him, and when this was brought to his attention, having been completely oblivious, he let her down more gently than any would have expected. At the time I was mildly aggrieved that he passed up my cousin for a woman he was not sure he would ever see again, but now I know why. Harry was a man of great wisdom and childish humour, a mighty ally whose power stretched belief, but with the vulnerabilities that plague mortal men, and a great friend. It is to him and King Aragorn that I owe my life, and to the whole Fellowship of the Ring that I owe my father's mind and the survival of our nation.

We say goodbye to Harry Potter, stalwart friend of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and one of the best men I have had the good fortune to know.

**The Istar's tale**

I, Gandalf the White, have seen many things and known many worthy men, elves and dwarves in the three hundred lifetimes of men I have walked this earth. Few, if any, have been worthier than Harry. I first met him when Aragorn brought him to Rivendell near 5 years past. At first sight he looked astounded and called me 'Merlin', who I was later informed was a powerful and mysterious legendary wizard of Harry's world, who was one of the first of his kind to visit Middle Earth, fathering by his lady, Nimue, the father of Prince Theodred's loyal bodyguard, Sir Emrys the Valiant. From the first I took a liking to Harry, his quick wit, curious and sharp mind and kind outlook, although it became clouded by the pressures of constant war, made him a superb companion and a good friend. He also came to wield a power that I have not seen equalled since the War of Wrath, which made him a fearsome sight on the battlefield and aided in his many and varied pranks.

After it became clear that he could not return to his own world, and nearly killing himself in trying to do so, I took him under my wing and sought to dispel his melancholy and impotent rage. When all else failed, I directed him to protect the North and Rohan, tasks he took to with a vigour, making great friends and great enemies. It was then he became known as the Black Wizard, the Wizard in the Shadows and other such names as he hunted evil's servants tirelessly, becoming much feared and much loathed by their kindred. And in the doing so he became darker, more ruthless, but never cruel, descending into shades of grey, but never straying into the blackness of evil, no matter how often he feared that he might.

But it was joining the Fellowship that truly revealed the whole man who he once was, the kind and thoughtful young man who stood by his friends even if it cost him his life, who had a ready laugh and a ready smile. Harry was a man who I have been honoured, and always will be, to have called my friend.

**The Elf's tale**

I, Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm, first met Harry when he was wounded hunting one of the Nine deep inside the forest two years ago. He was hunting the Nine, disrupting their activities and forcing them to leave whatever evil enterprise they had planned behind. He had made it into an art form, but this time he misjudged his opponent and was grievously wounded. He managed to run off the creature before collapsing, and was taken back to the palace by a passing patrol. He awoke briefly, managing to remove some of the poison in his bloodstream, then slept. He took several weeks to heal, and in that time we spoke a lot, of war, of politics, of women, of life and of everything and nothing. He was an excellent conversationalist and a sympathetic ear. He was also one of the few who did not show fear to my father, who is much like Steward Denethor was at his best: Gruff, uncompromising, but kind, fair and with a good heart that he sought to hide after losing his wife. Indeed, Harry showed much of his usual insouciance, tempered with a little respect when speaking with my father, and seems to have, for whatever reason, liked him better than the late Steward.

I did not see Harry for two years after he bade us a gracious farewell, though I heard rumours of his passing through the edge of the Kingdom, occasionally hailing patrols on the way to some other destination. I met him once more at the Council of Elrond, when the Fellowship was formed, and in the following months, I came to value his kindness, his slightly odd yet wise outlook on life, and of course his constant wit that was the one constant in difficult times. Harry may have feared that he would one day turn to the Dark, but I never feared that. He had too good a heart to truly to evil, though if he had, he would have been a foe to strike fear into the hearts of all. As it was, he struck fear into the hearts of those who served evil alone. He was my friend, and I regret that I did not get the chance to name him _Eldandil_, elf friend, though if he was not so officially, he was so in the sense that truly mattered.

**The Dwarf's tale**

I, Gimli son of Gloin, first met Harry at the Council of Elrond, where I remember marking him as: 'strange, quiet, mysterious, powerful'. I soon found that aside from quiet, he was all of these things. I had heard half whispered tales, rumours, of the Black Wizard, the Darkness slayer and the Fury of the Storm, a creature of might and mystery that destroyed all evil that crossed its path. At the time I dismissed it as old wives tales built on rumours, hopes, dreams and too much ale. Harry made my personal acquaintance through Bilbo Baggins, and I found him, like all the others who have spoken before me, to be an excellent companion, and a surprisingly good drinker, if prone to bouts of melancholy.

What most endeared him to me was how he treated all as his equals, and how he cared for all in the company in equal measure. I admired how he counselled those with problems even as he had his own troubles to worry about, and risked all for the comfort and safety of the company. I also remember how he refused to back down when Haldir of Lothlorien objected to my entry to the Golden Wood, staunchly defending me. I admired all of him, the hero, the vulnerable young man, the warrior, and the possessor of the ever present wit. He was my friend, and I shall miss him for all my remaining years.

**The Steward's tale**

I, Boromir son of Denethor, first met Harry at the same time as Gimli, at the Council of Elrond where we had a small spat over the disposition of the Ring, then made friends over shared losses and copious amounts of alcohol. My brother, Faramir, knew him before ever I did as I was serving on the borders when Harry made his one previous visit to Minas Tirith. When they met Harry chose to protect him from those who would seek to harm him, whether he needed it or not, because as his lifelong friends have commented, he has 'a saving people thing'. Harry always had a burning desire to help and protect people, and never gave up on one he called friend, nor would he abide insults to them. Even when the Ring broke me, he still trusted me and cared for me enough to draw me back from the dark and to raise me up even as I begged for death, feeling I deserved no better. But Harry disagreed, and that is what made him truly special, not his power. He had the ability to see the good in people, even if they could not see it themselves, and brought out the best in all around him.

Harry was a great man, one whom I would readily have trusted with anything save the Ring itself, for I shudder to think what would happen if it had bent him to his will. He was my friend, and I have wept many tears for him, and I shall weep many more. If I have any sons, I will name one after him, in memory of the good man who saved my life and my soul.

**The present**

Frodo woke up. Like when he had been stabbed with the Morgul blade so many months before, he woke up in a comfortable bed, sunlight streaming in. As he sat up, he saw a very familiar, and previously thought to be very dead face.

"Gandalf?" He asked wonderingly. Gandalf smiled, eyes crinkling, until joyous laughter burst out of first his mouth, then Frodo's.

Then came Merry and Pippin, who jumped on his bed, laughing and hugging, afterwards Gimli, who clapped and smiled, eyes beetling, and Legolas, a serene smile on his face, and Aragorn, dressed in fine red robes, then Boromir, who immediately went down on one knee and apologised profusely for his actions at the Falls of Rauros, crying slightly. Frodo accepted his apology gladly, and last, but not least, Sam entered, wearing a soft smile on his face. But one member of the Fellowship was very conspicuously not there.

"Where is Harry?" Frodo asked, looking puzzled. The mood in the room darkened.

"He is dead, Frodo." Gandalf said heavily.

The bottom dropped out of Frodo's stomach. "But, but he was so powerful. He can't be dead, he can't be!" He protested loudly, then after a moment asked quietly, "How?"

Gandalf looked away and said heavily, "He died outside the Black Gates, ten minutes before you destroyed the Ring. The tornadoes of fire Sam said you both saw on the battlefield far below, were caused his lover, Ginevra Weasley, in her grief. After the Fellowship parted, we found 4 others from his world, 3 who had come through the same way at the behest of the Valar, and the one who had been trapped in the dungeons of Saruman. Harry was fighting the Nazgul, protecting the army when he was forced to fight hand to hand with one of them on the back of its Fell Beast. This creature was no ordinary wraith, for as there were ten walkers, there were ten wraiths, and this was a young one, his nemesis reborn. He gave a good account of himself, matching it until he tired, but eventually it ran him in mid-air. He returned the favour, destroying it, but the fall and his stab wound were both mortal wounds. He lived just long enough to say goodbye." Gandalf sighed and said, "We buried him yesterday. I am sorry, Frodo."

"I should have been quicker. If I had, Harry would still live." Frodo said quietly in anguished tones.

"No Frodo. You cannot blame yourself for Harry's death. He knew what risks he was taking each time he fought, and he accepted them freely. It would be the height of unwitting arrogance to take all responsibility for his sacrifice away from him, belittling the conscious choice he made. Everything has it's time, and this was his." Gandalf replied, slightly sternly and consolingly.

"Could he come back, like you have?" Frodo asked, hope tingeing his voice.

"No, I am afraid not. I was sent back to fill the gap left by Saruman and to see the end of Sauron. No such reason exists for Harry to come back that I am aware of. He is at peace, passed beyond the circles of the world." Gandalf said heavily.

Frodo nodded, then sought to lever himself out of bed. "I would see his grave."

With Sam's help, he managed to walk to the chamber normally reserved for the burials of Stewards and Kings, soon reaching the flickering light of the magical fire that stood by the tomb. Someone was already there, a tall young woman, slim, her red hair flowing down her back, contrasting sharply with the black dress she wore. Her head was bowed, and the occasional tear rolled down her face, falling to the floor.

On hearing the sound of the two Hobbits entering, she looked up, and Frodo was struck by how beautiful she was. She smiled sadly, and said, "Hello Sam. And you must be Frodo. Harry talked a lot about you two. You were the one who destroyed the Ring, weren't you?"

Frodo nodded silently. This must be Ginny Weasley, the woman that Harry had loved more dearly than life itself.

"He would have been proud of you, both of you." Ginny said, then gulped and added, "I must go and get ready for the wake this evening. If you'll excuse me." She said, moving quickly past them and Frodo heard a strangled sob as she left the chambers.

He looked up at the statue of Harry. It somehow caught some of the essential life that had been inherent in Harry, from the armour to the wild smile. Sam rested a hand on Frodo's shoulder as the little hobbit suddenly sagged, putting his hand lightly on the tomb.

"He's at peace, Mister Frodo. At long last, he's at peace."

"Goodbye old friend," Frodo whispered, tears welling up in his eyes.

**Ginny**

Ginny strode off, barely restraining her renewed tears. In truth she had taken an instant liking to the frail Hobbit who had by cruel chance been elected the saviour of an entire world, when all he wanted to do was to be left in peace. Something about his bearing and weary courage resonated with her memories of Harry just after the war had ended. She had also taken a liking to his gardener and most loyal companion, Sam, whom she had briefly met when he was taking an enforced break from his watch on Frodo's sleeping form, and she had discovered in the doughty little Hobbit a spirit of bravery that would have had the entirety of Gryffindor house bowing in awe, as well as a love for gardening and simple, well cooked food that would have immediately endeared him to her mother.

Harry. She couldn't stop thinking about his broken form on the battlefield, his wit expressed even in his last moments, and the heart breaking puzzlement he had expressed as death's cold touch creep over his body. The kisses, the talks, the laughter, the kindness, the apocalyptic fury that she had been told by a number of awed witnesses he had wielded against the Witch King when he had struck her down, those deep green eyes that sparkled with life and love when they beheld her, they all melded into one grief stricken blur as she thought of the strange, maddening and absolutely wonderful man that she had loved so sweetly and lost so bitterly.

She had barely stopped crying since she had unleashed her wrath upon the Great Enemy's army. The others had fared little better. Her heart went out to Merry and Pippin, the two Hobbits who just couldn't understand that their mighty protector, their friend who had carved a bloody swathe through Mordor's armies with a flick of his wand, was dead. Ron and Hermione just looked poleaxed, as if they too could not quite believe that Harry, hero of two worlds, and their best friend for so many years, through so many trials and tribulations, was gone. Sirius, Théoden, Gandalf and Boromir all looked haunted in equal measure, which was hardly surprising since Harry had been like a son or a little brother to all of them, and they each privately held themselves responsible for his death. Boromir and Théoden in particular, both of whom were aware that Harry was the main reason they were still alive.

Boromir also grieved for that mad, fantastic, brave and vulnerable man, the one who had cried on his shoulder and never given up on him, who had listened to his troubles and counselled him upon them, a man who had been like a second Faramir, always looking out for him yet always hurting deep down. Sirius felt as if he had failed once more as a Godfather, failing to protect his Godson when it really mattered. Gandalf felt a great sense of loss for the bright and vibrant boy and man who had been an excellent listener, a curious student and a fantastic companion.

Gimli had wept bitter tears over one of his first friends among the Fellowship, the one who had stood up for him in Lothlorien and had shared much laughter with he and Legolas. Legolas looked, according to Boromir who had confided in her, much like he had after Aragorn had seemed lost to the river, struck dumb with grief for the friend who had tirelessly matched wits with him. Elladan and Elrohir both grieved for their fallen friend, who had often ridden alongside them in errantry, hunting roaming Orc bands, and been a ready drinking companion. Theodred, Eomer and to a lesser extent Théoden, looked remote in their grief, having lost someone who was family, or as good as, an ally who had proved himself countless times, a friend who had joked with them in their joy and comforted them in their sadness, one whom they had once dared hope would be bound to them by ties of blood, one whom they would have been very glad to see marry Eowyn, but it was not to be. Their bonds of fellowship, forged in battle and tempered by time and love, had been unbreakable, save by the harsh cruelty of death. Emrys did not know him half as well as the others, but he still mourned for the man who had saved his life with great effort, without even knowing his name, who had patiently taught him the ways of the sword and rescued his sister from Saruman's foul clutches, the man who had shared his odd sense of humour with everyone, lightening dark days.

Arguably, however, Aragorn was hit the worst. He and Harry had been as close as brothers, having saved each other's lives more times than you could count, each watching the others back and protecting their comrade with thoughtless devotion. Harry had been the witty foil for the more stoic Ranger, always managing to raise a smile on the other man's face and encouraging his quiet good humour, and the Ranger had been well, almost uniquely so, able to rouse Harry from his fits of melancholy and commiserate with him. Aragorn had come to see Harry as his brother, almost, if not quite, as close as the sons of Elrond, a younger brother to be guided and protected, and he felt he had failed in his duty when that younger brother fell just as he had found true love and they were on the cusp of a final victory.

The rest of the army, and the city of Minas Tirith when the army returned, though they had not known Harry well, mourned for the loss of hero, the West's brightest hope, Aragorn excepted, the nigh invincible figure who had worked tirelessly for a cause not his own and lands not of his birth, with a down to earth attitude, a kind outlook and a cheeky smile.

All mourned for the Black Wizard even as they rejoiced for the end of the feared shadow in the East. In Lothlorien, Mirkwood and Rivendell, a lament was sung for him even as they routed the remains of Sauron's northern forces. In the lands of Dale and the dwarf realm of Erebor, tears were shed for the green eyed and mysterious mage when the sad news came downstream. Even in Bree, tears were shed at the Prancing Pony, as Butterbur remembered, albeit with some difficulty, the patron of his establishment who had paid well, been a goodly source for information and a polite guest on many an occasion.

Only in Rohan, Dunland and the Shire, where they had no way of knowing what had passed, and those nations did not weep or raise a solemn, if grudging, toast to the passing of a worthy and fair opponent, or in the case of Saruman, laugh cruelly.

And in Rivendell, Master Elrond, pain in his heart, broke the news with difficulty to a weeping Albus Dumbledore as his daughter, Erestor, Glorfindel and his entire household sorrowed, who relayed the message first to Minerva McGonagall, then to Minister Shacklebolt and through him, the Muggle Prime Minister. Harry Potter, missing these last few years, was dead. The news was not released, it was decided, not until Ron, Ginny and Hermione (for they did not know of Sirius' return) returned.

And last of all, in the Grey Havens, a dark haired Elf woke from his uneasy slumber with tears rolling down his cheeks and he didn't have the faintest idea why.

**No, the Dark Haired Elf is NOT Harry. He will become important... very soon. And yes, he is the one name dropped in the next chapter, just to clarify.**


	34. Chapter 34: Only Mostly Dead

**Maybe one or two more chapters after this, then an epilogue. A sequel is planned.**

Harry woke up. This time, he was fully dressed and not in King's Cross. Instead he was lying on a bed in a small and well-appointed but not ostentatious room. He looked down. He was still wearing his armour and surcoat, though they seemed to have been cleaned. He stood up, and felt no pain. Suspicious, he opened the door and found it opened onto a great hall. A large glowing figure had been sitting on a throne at the end of the hall, but turned down the glow and walked over to Harry, enveloping him in a comforting hug.

"Welcome, Harry Potter, to the Halls of Mandos. I am Lord Namo, and you are now in my care." The figure said, smiling kindly.

Harry said nothing for a few moments, then spoke. "Well. This definitely wasn't what I was expecting. Last time I died, I ended up at some sort of railway station. And aren't I a little out of your jurisdiction?"

"All peoples from your world and Arda pass through my halls eventually. Last time you died, you did not pass all the way across, so you arrived at a halfway house of your own design. Here, I make the rules, though how you perceive it is down to you." Namo replied.

"Is Voldemort, finally, actually dead and not coming back? If I go back or am reborn, I don't want to wake up and find him standing over my bed or something."

"He is, and out of even Morgoth's reach, trapped in the punishment pits of the timeless halls. You need fear him no longer."

"I don't fear him, not like that. He was too daft and weak to be any real danger, except to himself." Harry said, then added grumpily as Namo's lips curved into a smile, "All right, he managed to kill me, but I could have finished him very easily."

"Will I be here for long?"

Namo just smiled mysteriously and said nothing.

Harry scowled, muttered about 'bloody cryptic Valar', then asked, "Is there anyone else here?"

In answer, Lord Namo merely looked beyond Harry, who turned and gasped at the crowd behind him. His parents. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Someone who could only be Godric Gryffindor. Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape of all people! Most puzzlingly, there was a tall, red haired elf at the back, with a sadly proud smile on his face and deep green eyes that were the exact same shade as his. All of them were wearing a proud smile of one sort or another. Even Snape was wearing a strange half smile which to Harry's mind looked thoroughly unnatural. He ran to them and was greeted with hugs, a particularly rib cracking one from his father and Godric Gryffindor, and gentler ones from his mother and Lupin.

"Mum. Dad." Harry said quietly, and his voice was filled with all the love and the pain of a child who had grown up without parents.

"Harry. It's good to see you at last." Lily said, hugging him closely.

"You've grown into a fine young man. Not _quite _as magnificent as me, but then, how can you beat perfection?" James said with a grin.

"Nonsense Potter, your son is an improvement, at long last. He has acquired some of his mother's wisdom, which is more than can be said for you." Snape drawled, no rancour in his voice, standing awkwardly off to one side.

Harry turned, and said, "Professor… I saw the memories you gave me… thank you. I know what it must have cost you to give them." Then Harry did what he had never thought possible. He. Hugged. Severus. Snape.

"Why can't you be more like Harry?" Lily said playfully as James's jaw dropped. Snape himself was no less surprised, and patted Harry awkwardly on the back.

Harry then released Snape, the latter looking a bit stunned, and turned to Lupin and Tonks, and felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

"Professor… Tonks. I abandoned my Godson, even if it was to the care of his grandmother. I shouldn't have done that… I'm sorry."

"No. You shouldn't. But you know it, and it was hardly your fault you stayed so long," Remus said firmly, directing a glare at Lord Namo, as did Dumbledore. Namo had the decency to look vaguely guilty under the icy glares.

"Indeed, Remus, there are certain people who will need to do a lot of explaining later. You are fine young man, Harry. Like your parents: brave, clever, kind and wise… if a little prone to pranks." Dumbledore said dryly, as James and Fred gave Harry thumbs up and grins behind his back.

"We forgive you, Harry. I'm not sure if my mother ever will though. She always swore I would be the last child she would ever look after." Tonks said wryly.

Harry followed Remus' glare and decided this was something to pursue later. "Sirius will give him the full Marauder's treatment. He'll be a proper menace to society, just like his father should have been and his Godfather was." Harry said proudly, with the slightest tinge of sadness in his voice.

Remus blanched, and James laughed loudly as Lily rolled her eyes. "That's my boy!" James chuckled, then added with a grin, "Speaking of the living, your girlfriend, Ginny. Excellent taste, she's gorgeous. Fiery and hot as hell. Just like your mother," he finished, planting a kiss on Lily's cheek.

Harry blushed and Lily swatted James on the arm and said, "Your father is right, if a little crude. She's a lovely girl."

Harry expression sobered, and he looked at the crowd before him. "I have to go back, haven't I." It was less a question, more a statement.

"Yes. Don't worry, we'll wait for you, and don't take it personally if we hope not to see for another few decades." James said, smiling sadly.

A door of light formed behind him, and Lord Namo said gravely, "It is time for you to go back, Harry Potter, your time is not up. I shall see you again, child, but not for some time."

Lily walked up to Harry and hugged him, kissing him on the forehead, and said, tears in her eyes, "Live long, my son. Be happy and love Ginny. And remember, I am so proud of you."

"Look after my sister, Harry." Fred said, with sad smile and Harry nodded. As he did so, Godric stepped forward.

"Hello sir. I suspect you'll be wanting your sword back where it belongs, in Hogwarts." Harry said ruefully.

"I could think of no place better for it than by your side. One day, it shall be returned to its home, but you, my heir, are more than worthy of wielding it for the moment. We are all so proud of you, and love you so much." Godric said kindly.

"Oh, Harry, before you go, I was asked to pass something on. Two friends I have made here, Finduilas and Gilraen, and their husbands, Denethor, who I think you knew, and Arathorn request that you pass on their love to their sons, Boromir and Faramir, and Aragorn." Lily added, remembering suddenly.

"What your mother didn't mention was that Denethor also said: 'You may be incredibly annoying, but you've done well by my sons. Also, tell Faramir that I am so proud of what he has become, even if I was too foolish to show it when I was alive and that the Lady Eowyn won't stay single forever, so he had better get off his arse and do something about it." James added with a grin.

Then Godric hugged Harry, like all the others, and when it ended Harry turned to go. As he stepped through the door of light, he heard his father yell, "And tell the mutt to wash more often! So he can settle down and have some pups! The Dunlending girl certainly looks interested!" and his mother cry despairingly, "James!"

Harry awoke once more, inside a coffin, which was a rather disconcerting experience. As he fumbled for his wand, he heard a distant tapping above, probably from some sort of particularly stupid crow. He blasted it, coffin, most of the tomb lid and the crow off with a powerful blasting curse. He stood and felt his chest as feathers and crow giblets fell around him. His mortal wound was healed, leaving a pale scar behind, and his clothes repaired. His stomach growled, he realised that he felt very hungry. And that his mouth tasted musty, he thought as he stretched stiff muscles.

"Just like a long sleep really." He muttered, slightly delirious, grabbed a large piece of shattered marble and carved carefully on it: "**Out for Lunch, back in 10 minutes.**"

He then checked his pockets and grinned. They'd buried him with his invisibility cloak, for some unfathomable reason. This, he thought, could be a lot of fun.

He slipped through the darkened passages of the palace like a ghost, invisible, feet and armour silenced, occasionally stopping to avoid servants, towards the light that indicated some sort of celebration in the main hall.

He walked into hall and was greeted by the sight of a lot of people wearing black, grey, brown and other sombre colours, the decorations following the same theme. He grabbed a chicken leg as he snuck past the buffet table and made for a familiar thatch of red hair.

"…and once he had to get past a dragon to get to a golden egg, so he provoked it into chasing him, then outflew it. And only got a scratch!" Ron was saying to an attentive audience comprising Sirius, Eomer, Theodred, all 4 hobbits, Boromir, Faramir, Aragorn, Hermione and Ginny, the latter of whom had red eyes unique to someone who had spent a long time crying. Clearly they were swapping stories about him, Harry thought with some amusement.

"To Harry." Ron said solemnly, lifting his mug in a toast. Really, Harry couldn't miss a straight line like that.

He stole up silently behind them, then casually plucked Ron's tankard from his hand as he raised it with his right hand, whipped his cloak off with the left and took a large gulp of the purloined beer. "You exaggerate Ron, it was quite a nasty gash." He said breezily, then added sagely, smacking his lips, "Ah, an excellent ale. Definitely worth coming back from the dead for."

Ron was staring pale faced and wide eyed at him, gibbering slightly. Since his supposedly dead and buried best friend had just appeared from nowhere right next to him, corrected him and stolen his drink all in one fell swoop, this was understandable. Theodred simply took a pull from his ale and said conversationally, "This is still far from the weirdest thing you've ever done."

"I'll second that." Aragorn said dryly, and Boromir merely rolled his eyes.

"Eh, whatever. Why is the party so quiet?"

"It's a wake for the dead. To celebrate their lives, not to cause the total chaos that you are bound to initiate if given the chance."

"And you call this _celebration_? Well, let's see about that. _Sonorus._" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Oh no. Here we go again." Theodred complained.

"**Hello, victorious soldiers of the army of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. To forestall your questions, Yes, I am back from the dead, and No, I am not some wraith like monstrosity. Still 100% Wizard. I'm a little behind the times, having been dead and all that, but this is supposed to be a celebration! Do you think that those who have passed on wouldn't want you to have a good party to honour their memory? We're all still alive, thanks to their sacrifice, so why not act like it? I did not come back from beyond the grave - nice statue by the way, it really catches my good side - to sit around dressed in dour clothing being depressed. You can bet your last piece of clothing that they aren't doing much mourning on the other side. They miss you, but I can tell you that they are enjoying the afterlife and waiting for you. Never let it be said that Gondor cannot throw a fantastic party. So, bring on the music, change the decorations, and for **_**ERU'S SAKE,**_** have some fun! "**

There was long moment of stunned silence, then Harry demanded, "**Well? What are you waiting for?" **

Servants started bustling in and out, bringing in new decorations and some musicians were hastily assembled, a dance floor cleared. "**Quietus**", Harry said, disabling the spell. "Well, that seems to have got things g-" He was suddenly interrupted when almost everyone jumped on him in a massive group hug, and more tears were shed, this time of happiness. Harry wheezed slightly, and when he extricated himself, Ginny rushed up to him in something that was half hug, half tackle and mostly snog. It went on for a long time, and the universe could have ended and begun anew without them noticing, wolf whistles and cheers spreading around the hall.

Finally they broke the kiss and Ginny whispered, happy tears rolling down her face, "Never scare me like that ever again. I thought you were dead."

Harry tilted her chin gently upward and said, "I was dead. But even death cannot stop true love. Only delay for a while. And for your sake, I'll try not to scare you like that," before kissing her again, slowly and gently as Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered about excessive quoting, "Now, I think it's time we started dancing. Miss Weasley, may I have the honour of this dance?"

She arched an eyebrow and replied, "Very well Mr Potter, but you have to promise to behave."

Ron and Hermione had already got up and begun to dance, Eomer had been quickly entranced by the beautiful and fiery Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, Sirius had a small crowd of partners waiting for him, and Boromir had found a young Gondorian lady to dance with, albeit slightly reluctantly. Only Theodred and Faramir were without partners, and the former was casting longing gazes at an amused looking Lady Morwen, who was standing 10 feet away. An evil grin spread across his face.

"If you give me a moment, Miss Weasley, I promise to do as you wish all evening."

"You had better not keep me waiting Mr Potter." Ginny said archly.

"I would rather die. Again."

And with that, Harry slipped over to where Theodred was standing and said casually, "She's a great dancer. Beautiful, kind, smart and talented at dancing, what more could you want? If you don't dance with her, someone else sure as hell will."

Theodred looked startled. "Who are you talking about?"

"Lady Morwen. The one you keep shooting longing gazes at. And, old friend, you can thank me for this later." Harry said, patting him convivially on the back, then suddenly shoving him hard. Theodred stumbled, caught by surprise, and managed to right himself just before he ran into her.

"Do you want to dance, Lord Prince?" she said with a smile, giving Harry a wry look, which the wizard responded to with a cheeky wink.

"Um…"

"That means yes. Come on then, and follow my lead." She said briskly leading him onto the dance floor.

Harry then moved to Faramir who was half staring at Eowyn and half looking warily at Harry out of the corner of his eye.

"When I was dead, my parents asked me to pass on a message from your parents. Your mother said she was proud of you both and your father said, 'Also, tell Faramir that I am so proud of what he has become, even if I was too foolish to show it when I was alive and that the Lady Eowyn won't stay single forever, so he had better get off his arse and do something about it.' I may not have liked him much, but the man has a point. Had. Whatever." Harry said.

Faramir stared at him wide eyed, then reached for a drink to fortify himself, which Harry swiped from his grasp, chiding, "No, a combination of alcohol and asking a beautiful lady to dance is doomed to failure. You fought hordes of Orcs! How can this be harder?"

"She could turn me down! She always seems so remote!" Faramir said flustered, as far from the cool and collected Captain of Gondor as it was possible to be.

"And you think she will automatically fall in love with you if you stare at her whilst being lonely?" Harry replied flatly.

"Um…"

"Come on." Harry said, swinging an arm round Faramir and apparating him over to Eowyn, then, panicked, he cast a quick anti-nausea charm on Faramir before he threw up all over Eowyn's feet.

Eowyn looked up, surprised as Harry sharply elbowed a semi recovered Faramir in the ribs.

"M-my lady, may I… have…" Faramir lapsed into embarrassed silence.

"Must I do _everything _myself?" Harry lamented, and sighed, then said briskly, "Eowyn, you know Faramir. What you do not know that he is deeply in love with you and is far too embarrassed to ask you to dance despite mowing down hordes of Orcs without hesitation." He then added disparagingly, "Typical Gondorian."

Eowyn blinked and said, "I would love to dance, Lord Faramir."

"Really? Oh, yes, thank you!" Faramir said, thoroughly relieved.

"You may want to lead," Harry hissed at Eowyn who rolled her eyes at him, then he grinned, and moved back to Ginny, who was wearing a dry smile. "Match making, Harry?"

"The only match _I_ want is right here. Let's set the dance floor alight." Harry said, anticipation in his voice, then paused, "but not literally of course. That wouldn't be a –mmph!" Ginny interrupted him with another kiss.

"Come on you idiot. Let's dance." Ginny said fondly, dragging him onto the dance floor as Pippin joined the dance with a relatively short noblewoman, and as Aragorn was giving Harry a look that said they would talk later while he sat and spoke to Théoden. Frodo had been sitting quietly up with the Merry and Sam, all three of whom were cheering Harry, who saluted them as he passed by.

And so they danced all night, clothes whirling, eyes flashing with love and in many cases, lust. Alcohol was drunk, competitions set up in a separate room so as to avoid dirtying the dance floor, and Harry laughed himself sick as Legolas sought to escape a large group of young ladies attempting to make him their dance partner and various members of the dowager nobility seeking to set him with their daughters. Ron made the mistake of trying to out drink Gimli and eventually collapsed as the dwarf showed no signs of slowing down his concerted charge towards a complete lack of sobriety.

Hermione sobered him up with a long suffering sigh, and Sirius seemed to have collected what approximated to a small mob of adoring young ladies, all of them listening attentively to vaguely exaggerated tales of his various escapades. Eirian was standing off to one side, watching Sirius from a short distance away. Emrys, still with dark golden hair, presumably a side effect of his rampage at the Morannon, was happily arguing with a Gondorian girl his own age, which made Harry wonder if he was seeing Hermione and Ron: The Middle Earth edition, in the making. Theodred and Morwen had stopped dancing, and now held hands in a way that made Harry wish desperately for a camera to embarrass them with later, and by them he meant Theodred. Sirius then started singing again:

_Well a Scotsman clad in kilt left a bar on evening fair_

_And one could tell by how we walked that he drunk more than his share_

_He fumbled round until he could no longer keep his feet_

_Then he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_

_Ring ding diddle diddle I de oh ring di diddly I oh_

_He stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_

_About that time two young and lovely girls just happend by_

_And one says to the other with a twinkle in her eye_

_See young sleeping Scotsman so strong and handsome built_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt_

_Ring ding diddle diddle I de oh ring di diddly I oh_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the kilt_

_They crept up on that sleeping Scotsman quiet as could be_

_Lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see_

_And there behold, for them to view, beneath his Scottish skirt_

_Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth_

_Ring ding diddle diddle I de oh ring di diddly I oh_

_Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth_

_They marveled for a moment, then one said we must be gone_

_Let's leave a present for our friend, before we move along_

_As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon, tied into a bow_

_Around the bonnie star, the Scots kilt did lift and show_

_Ring ding diddle diddle I de oh ring di diddly I oh_

_Around the bonnie star, the Scots kilt did lift and show_

_Now the Scotsman woke to nature's call and stumbled towards a tree_

_Behind a bush, he lifts his kilt and gawks at what he sees_

_And in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes._

_O lad I don't know where you been but I see you won first prize_

_Ring ding diddle diddle I de oh ring di diddly I oh_

_O lad I don't know where you been but I see you won first prize_

As Sirius sang, he sauntered with canine grace through the crowd of young women and took Eirian by the hand, tugging her into a lively dance, he singing and her blushing and laughing all the while. Emrys looked up briefly, eyed Sirius, and then turned back to his partner with a shake of his head and a snort of laughter.

Gandalf stood beside Harry as the latter was taking a brief rest from the dancing and smirking at the vaguely scandalised response Sirius' singing had garnered. "Somehow this makes it all worth it. The chance to enjoy yourself and bathe in the glow of others happiness…" Harry said abruptly, trailing off as he looked at Ginny, who was chatting and giggling with Morwen.

"So speaks a man deeply in love." Gandalf said with a certain satisfaction.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, then shook his head and laughed. "I suppose so, Gandalf, I suppose so."

"When will you go back?" Gandalf asked quietly.

Harry replied with a question, "Will I be allowed to return?"

Gandalf thought for some time, then nodded. "I think so. There will always be a darkness to fight, and I feel that you and your line will be important in the 4th Age of the world."

"I and my…" Harry trailed off, looking wide eyed at Gandalf, then at Ginny and back again.

"Don't look at me like that, young wizard, it was a prediction, not a prophecy." Gandalf replied with a fond irritation.

Harry exhaled. "Good. I've had enough of prophecies. I think I'll stay to help strengthen Aragorn's control over the country and clear out the last dark creatures. Then… home. At least for a while." He looked up. Gandalf wasn't listening and appeared to be staring into the middle distance. Then the old wizard blinked a couple of times and his eyes snapped to first Ginny, then Ron, and he made a hmming sound.

"What's up Gandalf?"

"Oh, nothing. I was in communion with the Herald of the Valar, Eonwe, the one you saw at Edoras taking down your oath. It just seems as if the gates between your world and this opened a long time ago for someone they shouldn't, almost as a respite, then returned him to his punishment 90 years later. The punishment was to walk the coasts of this world forever. Now it seems that his torment is to be ended." Gandalf said thoughtfully, gazing at the Weasley's.

Something about that rang a vague bell with Harry, who wracked his brains. "Are you saying the Weasley's aren't entirely human?" He asked incredulously.

"Indeed I am, though so long ago that only their blood remembers now, and there is little elf left in them, only so much as there is in Aragorn, and I suspect it took their time in this world to awaken it. The blood will have few effects on them, aside from making them slightly physically enhanced, slightly more perceptive and grant them a slightly longer life." Gandalf said slowly, getting out his pipe and beginning to smoke.

Harry waved away the smoke and asked, "Which elf, Gandalf?"

The White Wizard did not answer for a long time, then said, "He is very old, a contemporary of Galadriel's. He raised the Lords Elrond and Elros, and was the kindest of his accursed family. I suspect he would have grown to be a great elf if his father had not overwhelmed him like his brothers."

"Give me a name Gandalf." Harry said firmly.

"The last living of the seven sons of Feanor. The last of the kinslayers. His father made the Silmaril's, his nephew all the Rings of Power, save the One. The Wanderer. The Singer. The Repenter. The Traitor Slayer. _Maglor_." Gandalf said, a dramatic intensity in his voice, a depth and complexity of feeling Harry could only begin to guess at.

Harry looked puzzled, then snapped his fingers, remembering Elrond's tales of the First Age. "The dark haired one, the one who didn't really want to take the oath."

Gandalf nodded. "His brother, Maedhros, is your ancestor. Maedhros was the peacemaker who, but for treachery, would have shaken the foundations of Thangorodrim itself with the greatest alliance the world has seen, save only the army of Valinor. He who was wise and fierce in combat, even after losing a hand. He also would also have been great, after his own fashion. It seems that for his remorse for his terrible deeds caused him to be briefly diverted to your world upon his death, where, like his brother, he fell in love and married."

"I… I'm part elf?" Harry stammered incredulously.

"Only a _very_ small part. The best way to describe you would be as one of the Dunedain or one of the high nobility of Gondor." Gandalf replied calmly. "And have you not noticed that you have become somewhat faster, stronger, more agile, faster to heal and sensitive to danger since you came here? I have seen many fight, Harry, I recognise enhanced abilities when I see them. Have you not noticed that your endurance matches that of Aragorn and Legolas? Or it would if you ran more often." Gandalf said with a slight smile. "And I think it is a very good thing that you are only a fraction elf. I dread to think the trouble you would cause if you were immortal with all the strengths of the elves."

"Hey! My endurance is just fine. And I would not cause trouble. Well, not much." Harry said, pouting slightly. Then he added, "I think I saw Maedhros in the Halls of Mandos, standing with my family and friends."

"Really? That is interesting." Gandalf said, clearly thinking about something, then moving on. "Anyway, if you wish to find Maglor, the best place to look would be the Grey Havens, where I am informed he is recovering in Cirdan's care. Not yet, and not for some time, as I suspect he is still somewhat… traumatised by his experiences and unused to living contact. There is no onus on any of you to make it known that he is related to you, or even to see hi-"

"He's family Gandalf. However distantly. In my estimation, he has suffered more than enough for the Kinslayings, and from what I have heard of his father, he had little chance to be his own person, even from the start. Of course I, at least, will visit him. I suspect Ron and Ginny will say the same." Harry, cutting across Gandalf strongly.

The White Wizard, stood and nodded, with a smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me Harry, I need to speak to Aragorn. And get a drink."

Harry nodded in return, and said, "Family's important."

As Gandalf walked off, Harry could have sworn he heard him mutter, "That's my boy."

Harry then tapped the sword of Gryffindor, and noticed something, or more an absence of something. He looked up to see that Gandalf was now talking to Frodo, Aragorn having moved on to make nice with the nobility. He apparated over, and to Frodo's credit, he didn't even flinch at the sudden crack.

"Gandalf, the sword. I don't have the same feeling of… power from it. As if it's been drained, or almost drained." Harry said, puzzled.

"Ah, I was wondering when you would notice that. I suspect it was granted a massive volume of raw power in order to help you, and whoever else was worthy of wielding it, the power to face Sauron. Now you are left only with what power comes naturally to you, though I do not doubt that your own power will be truly great one day. Not yet though. You may need to study further, as I think the power acted through you on at least one occasion." Gandalf said with a small smile.

Harry was no longer listening, one hand tight on the sword hilt, the other on his wand, which he drew as if in a trance. He then tapped Frodo's finger denuded hand, and said in Godric's voice, "**Every hero has a reward, Frodo son of Drogo, even if they do not look for it. I cannot heal your other wounds, for it is not within my power, but this much I can do for you.**"

A golden red finger grew there, glowing brightly at first, then subsiding. Frodo just looked from his new finger to Harry and back again, flexing it briefly and said nervously, "Does that happen often?"

"I hope not." Harry grumbled, cracking his neck, "My body is mine, not a convenient avatar for the spirits of the dead to make their feelings known. Besides, all the power is gone now, and that is one thing I won't miss about it. It's just a slightly magical sword. Repels dust, dirt, finds its way to a worthy wielder and channels magic. Well, maybe it gives a boost to fire spells, but that's it." He looked at Gandalf and Frodo. "Don't tell anyone I got a power boost from the sword will you? I'll tell Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Théoden, Theodred, Eomer, Eowyn, Faramir, Sirius and the Fellowship, but having everyone else think I'm a vengeful god or avenging angel is kind of fun."

"That is rather a lot of people." Gandalf observed dryly, and then added, "Nevertheless, your secret dies with us."

Harry wagged a finger sternly. "No dying."

"Everyone does so eventually Harry. Death is but the next great adventure, a wise man once said." Gandalf said placidly.

"Yes, Dumbledore really liked that one. But this is a party, and I'm just back from the dead, so I intend to have fun, which may or may not involve getting absolutely drunk out of my skull."

"How do you get drunk out of your skull?" Frodo asked, puzzled.

"I don't know, but I intend to find out." Harry said firmly, moving purposefully towards the ale barrels.

"Before you go Harry, I would add Emrys to that list. His newly discovered power comes from a similar place to yours." Gandalf called, earning a negligent wave in response.

Boromir sidled over, and said, "5 gold crowns that he sets something on fire while he's drunk."

"That's a suckers bet. 10 says that he does something to that nobleman whose slobbering over Ginny." Eomer said, following him.

"Done." Boromir said, shaking his hand.

Said nobleman, young, tall, well-formed, foolish and incredibly drunk was being a little too matey with Ginny, but before Harry could draw his wand and do something horrible to him, Ginny lost her temper.

"…I've never seen someone's snot grow wings before." Eomer said with a blink, as the bat bogey hex took effect.

"Or attack its owner. You own me 10 crowns." Boromir finished, holding out a smug hand. Eomer grumpily counted it out, and glared at Boromir, who clapped him on the shoulder.

"Since you're my friend Eomer, I'll give you a chance to win it back. You out drink Gimli, and I'll pay you 30. If you lose, you owe me nothing. Come on, he's already half way there! Or are you all lightweights in Rohan?" Boromir said, grinning.

Eomer bristled, "All right, I'll give it a go. I'll just go and talk to Theodred first."

"Wonderful, I'll get it set up." Boromir said, making for Gimli as Eomer went to find Theodred, presumably to tell him that he was going to get absolutely blasted and not to let Eowyn near him for most of the next day. When he turned away, Boromir beckoned to Sirius, and the two conspired in whispers. Gandalf watched with a small smile as they then made for Gimli, Sirius doing something with his wand and Boromir whispering to the now sober dwarf, who soon started grinning. When Eomer came over, Gimli was acting as he previously had, semi-drunk, and the drinking game begun.

"Harry is having a bad influence on them." Gandalf said, shaking his head.

Frodo smiled weakly, flexing his new glowing finger. "He has that effect on everyone."

Gandalf looked at him sharply. "Is that why I saw Pippin passed out drunk in a corner with pink hair?"

Frodo looked innocent. "Would I ever do something like that?"

"If you thought you could get away with it." Gandalf replied. "Harry or Sirius?" He asked.

"Ronald, actually. He was most helpful when I told him what I wanted." Frodo said amusedly.

"Hobbits." Gandalf muttered. "You do realise Aragorn's coronation is in less than 3 weeks?"

"It should wear off by then." Frodo said placidly, apparently unaware of Gandalf's suspicious gaze upon him.

The next morning Eomer woke to an absolutely monstrous hang over. He vaguely remembered getting into a drinking contest with Gimli, and losing badly.

"Ow." He groaned, and tried to get out of bed. It was at that point when he found out that he was trapped, tied up inside a dress. One of Eowyn's by the looks of things, he thought as he rolled off the bed with a thump. Glaring mutely at the wall, he vowed revenge on Theodred and Harry, who could not fail to be involved, and Boromir, who was almost certainly the mastermind of this particular indignity. When he looked into the mirror and saw his bright pink hair, he bellowed, "_**HARRY POTTER!**_"


	35. Chapter 35: Happy Endings

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, but real life has been getting in the way. It does that. Exams are coming, and I'm stressing a little. **

**The title's something of a misnomer, as this story isn't quite over, and I've started work on a sequel, tentatively called 'From Out of the Shadows', though the title is far from permanent. **

**In which there is fluff, sweetness and humour. Enjoy!**

Two months passed after what was later dubbed 'The Dance of Shadows'. Harry and Ginny spent most of the first two weeks in their shared bedroom, making up, as they called it, 'for lost time'. No one, especially not Ron, particularly wished to enquire as to the details. Hermione had changed Eomer and Pippin's hair back after threats to Harry had failed miserably and desperate entreaties to Ron, Sirius and Ginny had been met with laughter and fallen upon deaf ears.

Aragorn had heard that Arwen was coming to Minas Tirith to marry him and consequently spent a lot of his rare spare time pacing and looking slightly nervous in the manner of most men who face the greatest day of their lives. Of course, most men weren't going to be crowned King of a powerful realm vastly weakened by a long and life sapping war of attrition. Nor had most men waited over fifty years for that day. As Harry said in a carefully timed manner to Theodred in one of the better taverns, 'that's a lot of time for a man to have no comfort but his hand', causing Theodred to perform a spectacular spit take, much to Harry's utter glee and Boromir's chagrin, as Boromir had been sitting opposite Theodred at the time.

Boromir had grumbled about the paperwork that came with being Steward, but done it with much of his brothers help/nagging.

Faramir had helped his brother with his duties as Steward and carefully courted Eowyn with her uncle, brother and cousin's collective wholehearted approval, and Harry, Sirius and Ron's benevolently dispensed advice and amusement at his occasional nervousness.

Sirius had spent a lot of time walking, talking and singing with Eirian, under the watchful eye of her brother who was alternately pursuing his own young lady in a light hearted, banter filled flirtation that had Hermione muttering about 'Much Ado About Nothing' and exploring the implications of his combined Maia and Wizard heritage with Gandalf and Hermione. He had so far learned to consciously use his inherent, if rather limited, Maia powers, including greatly enhanced speed, agility, reflexes and strength, farspeaking (solely to those of his blood and with magical/Maia blood, meaning that he could communicate with Elladan and Elrohir with a great deal of effort due to their small amount of Maia blood, but not Legolas) and what Harry had jokingly dubbed as his 'moth magnet' light emitting abilities, and unusual magical powers, which seemed to draw on the same power source as his other abilities.

This meant that he could perform wandless magic with relative ease (which had intrigued Hermione no end), but the spells were often overcharged and hard to control. So far he could levitate a feather, create a ball of light, set things on fire, create weak barriers (which was as much instinct as anything else) and unlock doors (making he, Sirius, Ron and Harry partners in pranking), but any attempts to make his hair return to its original colour had so far been in vain. Eirian had yet to show any overtly supernatural abilities, but it was noted that her rate of healing, the almost liquid grace of her movements and her singing voice of all things bore closer examination. So far, however, it was clear that the Maia and magical blood ran strongest in her brother.

Ron and Hermione had spent a lot of time looking round the city, and the local bandits stayed well away from them after Hermione had hexed one with the word 'Coward' emblazed on his face in spots, and 'Thief' on another.

Théoden had spent the two months advising Aragorn on dealing with unruly courtiers and refining the former Ranger's grasp of court politics, which grew in leaps and bounds, as well as organising the rebuilding of his war torn nation from Minas Tirith.

And Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Sam spent much of their time resting, which to Hobbits meant eating utterly vast amounts of food and not doing much. This inevitably led to much teasing about the Hobbits getting fat. None of this, however, was directed at Frodo, who was still somewhat frail from his ordeal, and occasionally woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Along with his troubled looking blue eyes, which Harry had idly suggested he trademark, lead to almost Mrs Weasley levels of mothering from Ginny, Hermione and Eowyn (the latter when she thought no one was looking). The presence of several elves, a Maia and two part Maiar mitigated the troubles somewhat, and everyone in the citadel slept rather more easily as the light they emitted drove away much of the lingering darkness.

The afternoon before the day of Aragorn's coronation arrived, just as sentry reports filtered back, saying that the party from Rivendell and Lothlorien was due the next day. Harry had gone out to meet them, cheerily saying that he didn't want people to be distracted by a supposedly dead person among the wedding guests. His reception had been effusive to say the least.

Elrond was riding slightly ahead of the party, wrapped up in his thoughts, and one thought in particular was running around inside his head. His daughter was going to her doom. A doom she had embraced, but a doom none the less. The mere thought of her dying and never seeing her again tore at him. But she would be loved, that he could console himself with. While he wished it wasn't so, the love Aragorn and Arwen had for one another was painfully reminiscent of Beren and Luthien, that was obvious. It was not only for her that he sorrowed, but for Harry.

Harry, the young man who had fought the good fight so hard for so long, the young man who had been unstinting in his loyalty throughout. Aragorn could have had no better ally in the tumult that was sure to follow the fall of Sauron, a steadfast supporter whose mere name struck fear into the hearts of all who would seek to harm Aragorn or Arwen. But Harry was dead, killed in the battle on the plains of Morannon at the moment of victory. He could easily imagine the pain that his friends and lover were going through. It was the same pain he had felt when Elros and Gil-Galad had died and Celebrian had had to go to Valinor, even worse for the fact that Harry had passed beyond the circles of the world to an uncertain future.

Arwen had wept tears for her friend Ginny's loss and for her own. Harry had, soon after realising the closeness between Aragorn and Arwen, privately sworn to Elrond, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir that he would give his life if necessary to keep Aragorn safe. All the elves had felt the of sincerity in his tone, and the presence that Elrond associated with the Herald of Manwe and Oathkeeper of Iluvatar was very definitely present, albeit very discretely. The presence had soon moved towards the cellars, and since Glorfindel had been very drunk later that evening, as well as several empty bottles of Dorwinion wine on the cellar floor, Elrond could only assume that they had been catching up and reminiscing about old times.

Elrond blinked and woke from the reverie at a loud and familiar sounding crack. Not more than forty yards away was… no, it could not be, yet it was. As Elrond the Wise's jaw dropped for the first time in an age, Harry, that wonderful, impossible man, grinning like mad and dressed in red and gold finery, spoke in a very familiar cheeky tone. "So, did you miss me?"

Elrond dismounted, and closed the distance between them in a matter of moments. He looked at Harry for a long moment, then silently pulled him into a fierce hug.

Harry bore the rib cracking hug for some time, then said firmly, "Elrond. Elrond. _Elrond_! I may be a resurrected wizard, but I do need to breath."

"How?" Elrond breathed in wonderment, holding Harry at arm's length.

"Long story short, I died, Lord Namo sent me back, I crashed the wake. Apparently I have work still to do, and Gandalf said something cryptic about I and my line which he claims isn't a prophecy. I was sent to meet you to prevent any major shocks during the solemn undertaking of a marriage service or coronation." Harry replied casually, then added, "And I think I'd better say hello to everyone else."

As he said that, Glorfindel came running up at full pelt and clasped Harry's arm in a warrior's greeting, then pulling him into a hug.

"It seems Balrog slayers are now no longer the ones with the monopoly on true resurrection." Glorfindel said with a grin.

Harry shrugged and said in a bantering tone, "I'm just that wonderful."

"Or Lord Namo couldn't stand the sight of you and kicked you back here."

"Considering what I've heard about you, I reckon that's why _you _were sent back. You and Finrod apparently left a trail of mayhem and destruction wherever you went."

"Was not."

"Was so."

"Was not."

"Was so."

"Was _not_."

"Was _so_."

Elrond rolled his eyes despairingly as the childish argument was broken up by the arrival of Arwen, who Harry swept a low and surprisingly courtly bow towards.

"Aragorn is going to think he has passed into the heavens when he sees you, my lady Evenstar. I can only think of one who compares, and I freely admit that I am biased on that score." Harry said, with smooth gallantry. Clearly he had learnt how to speak in a courtly manner at some point, or he had always known and just couldn't be bothered to use it. The latter, Elrond thought, was distinctly more likely.

"It is good to see you alive, Harry Potter. I assume that your love found you safe and well?" Arwen said with a smile.

"She did, and found me very surprised at her appearance in Edoras. I must confess that I first thought that Eomer had spiked my wine. Again." Harry said a faint smile on his face.

"Your talent for beating the odds has, it seems, not atrophied, Lord Potter." Galadriel said with a smile and a dry tone, having drifted forward alongside Celeborn, who bowed his head to Harry with a quick smile.

"Something for which I am supremely thankful, My Lady." Harry said, bowing.

"Ginny has him very well trained, succeeding where all others have failed," Glorfindel muttered to Elrond, who suppressed a smirk with difficulty.

"Anyway, I take it you are all well?" Harry inquired, receiving a chorus of affirmatives.

"Excellent, then I'll be off. I have to make sure Sirius doesn't try and turn Eomer into a canary again." Harry said, bowed once more, and disapparated.

There was silence for a moment, and then Glorfindel said, "Is it just me or does life take a profound turn for the extremely weird when Harry's around?"

"No, it's not just you." Elrond said slowly, watching the space Harry had just vacated.

Harry strode back into the citadel, beaming sunnily at the cowering and bandaged guard who he had previously used as a battering ram, causing the man to tremble slightly. Being shoved headfirst through a wooden door does little good to one's self confidence. The other guards just stood stonily, tracking him with half an eye, then when he had passed, looking with a mix of sympathy and amusement at their terrified colleague.

"They're coming, and boy are you going to be happily surprised when Arwen arrives." Harry said as he entered the council chamber, interrupting a discussion on taxes and annual crop yields that had been boring Aragorn to death. The new King, barely hiding his relief, dismissed the councillors, who looked a bit annoyed as they rolled up their scrolls, shut their books and left.

"How is she?" Aragorn asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

"She is well, beautiful as ever and looking forward to arriving here. Galadriel is… as she always is, mysterious and smiling. Elrond has something of a shadow over him, knowing that his daughter has made the choice of the Peredhil, and not the one he wished, though I sense his great pride in your success and his acceptance." Harry reported with a smile.

"Good, good…" Aragorn ran his hands through his hair as he paced in small circles.

Harry contained a grin, and said good naturedly, "Aragorn. Calm down. You're planning a wedding, not your own execution."

Aragorn cast a harried look at him, and continued pacing. Harry sighed, realising nothing he could possibly say could do any good, and muttered the incantation for a cheering charm, then strode out.

"The King's suddenly in a very good mood. If you lot want a pay rise or something, now's probably the best time to ask for it," Harry said to the guards on his way out. They just stared at him as he disappeared in mid stride with a loud crack.

A scant moment later, he appeared inside his and Ginny's shared chambers.

"Honey, I'm home!" He said with a jokey grin.

"And what time do you call this?" Ginny said, emerging from their shared bedchamber and playing along.

Harry paused for thought, then said, "Do you want the cheesy answer or what will inevitably follow?"

Ginny just rolled her eyes and kissed him. After a long and passion kiss, they surfaced for air.

"Really Harry, with all this carrying on, people will begin to talk!" Ginny said with a cheeky smile.

"Bah, let them talk. Half of them love me and half can't stand me, and all wish they had this much fun," Harry said, re-engaging the kiss and leading them both back to bed.

**The Coronation**

"Now come the days of the King," Gandalf said, placing the simple - yet weighted with history - winged crown of the Kings of Gondor on Aragorn's head.

Then he said quietly, to Aragorn, as his protégé looked up and smiled at him, "May they be blessed,"

Aragorn looked up at the crowd, standing on the topmost level of Minas Tirith restored, who immediately began to clap and cheer for the King. He looked to his right, and saw the Fellowship arrayed in a line, clapping hardest and cheering loudest of them all. He smiled softly, pride in heart. His friends, standing to watch his, excuse the pun, crowning moment, all of whom would, and had, gone through blood, fire and death itself for each other. He was truly blessed to have such friends as these.

Boromir stepped forward, went down on one knee, presenting the rod of stewardship, and said formally, "The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to give up his office."

Aragorn took the rod from Boromir, then handed it back, saying, "I do not give you leave, Steward of Gondor. I will need a strong Steward in times to come, especially as said Steward is one of my dearest friends." Quietly, he added, "There is no man I would rather have by my side. Your parents would be proud of you."

"Thank you, My Lord," Boromir said quietly, a wealth of emotion in his voice. Aragorn smiled down at him, then looked up and directly at Harry, who suddenly got the sense that something was being sprung upon him. The evil grins the Fellowship and the rest of his friends were directing at him only confirmed this.

"I would also like to invest a court Wizard. Would Harry Potter please step forward?" Aragorn said, face grave, but with a distinctly Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eyes. Harry stepped forward, and bowed gravely. His face was a careful mask, but his eyes said clearly, 'I am getting you for this'.

"Harry Potter, I request that you accept the post of Royal Wizard of Gondor, and this symbol of office," Aragorn said, beckoning to Legolas and Gimli, who brought forth a dark holly wood staff, carefully engraved with runes and sigils, a bright emerald set in the top. Written in Sindarin down the side was 'I am wielded by the man who walks in the shadows to protect the light, the Darkness Slayer. Not all that is dark is evil, for light cannot exist without shadow.' As Harry numbly took the staff, he noticed a space carefully designed to fit his wand perfectly. He clipped his wand in, and was rewarded by golden and silver light flooding the designs and lettering on the staff, the emerald lighting up to gasps of awe and wonder from the crowd.

"Relax. I won't require you to spend all that much time at Court. Even if you do not accept, that does not diminish the slightest bit in my eyes," Aragorn said softly, then added thoughtfully, "But Gimli may kill you if you don't, he, Legolas and Ron spent ages on that staff. Apparently Ron has a real feel for such work."

Harry mock pouted. "Can't I just take the staff?"

"No. Take the staff, take the job," Aragorn said with concealed grin.

Harry sighed ruefully. "You just had to do this in public, didn't you?"

"Yes," Aragorn said, fighting to keep his lips twitching in smirk.

"Fine. I'll play Merlin to your Arthur. And thank god there's no Morgana or Lancelot around," Harry muttered with a smile. Aragorn restrained a grin, having heard about King Arthur and Merlin, usually in conjunction with Emrys pestering Harry and his friends about his grandparents.

"I accept this great honour, and I swear to serve you and your heirs faithfully, Lord King, until I breathe my last," Harry said solemnly, eyes twinkling with mirth as he inwardly plotted revenge.

"And I swear to keep faith with you, and reward your loyalty as well as it deserves. Rise, Lord Moristar Morinhetar, Royal Wizard of Gondor. Rise, Black Wizard, Darkness Slayer," Aragorn said, inwardly slightly worried and very amused at the look in Harry's eyes, ignoring the whispers that circulated through the crowd at the title conferred on Harry.

"This day does not belong to one man but to all. Let us together rebuild this world that we may share in the days of peace," Aragorn said as Harry retreated to his place, mock glaring at his friends who were all grinning broadly and dimming the lights on the staff. Legolas and Gimli slipped round to join the Fellowship, also grinning, and were rewarded with similar glaring. The resultant cheers were deafening.

Then Aragorn did something utterly extraordinary. He began to sing. And sing beautifully. The song, in Sindarin, washed over the crowd who stood in awed silence. No King in history had sung for his people, not that it bothered anyone, quite the opposite. When he had finished, he walked down the white paved path as the entire crowd bowed their heads in respect as he past, great and small alike.

Aragorn noted particular people in the crowd as he passed. Faramir, the new Prince of Ithilien and Eowyn, who had a large betting pool, run by Sirius, on when he would pop the question. Ginny had a bet that she would be the one to ask, and Aragorn suspected that she might win. Since Harry wasn't betting against her, this was quite likely, though that could be to do with the fact that she had him wrapped round her little finger.

King Théoden, and Princes Eomer and Theodred all stepped forward as one, Princess Lothiriel and Lady Morwen stepping forward with them, respect strong in all their eyes.

Then the people he wanted to see the most stepped forward. A procession of elves, dressed in silver and white, stepped forward, Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn looking on proudly as Arwen stepped through looking calm and utterly serene as she proceeded up towards him, though this façade soon fractured, her love shining through.

They looked at each other for a moment, then kissed deeply and gently. What neither of the couple noticed amid the cheers, was Harry quietly singing, "Here comes the bride…"

Ginny looked up at him, and with a grin said casually, "Speaking of which… would you, Harry James Potter, make me the happiest woman in the world, and marry me?"

Harry looked stunned, then kissed her furiously and said, tears of happiness rolling down his face, cupping her face and said, "Of course, a million times yes!"

"Good, now kiss me you dolt," Ginny said impishly. Harry, grinning like a loon, complied. And the crowd was cheering so hard that no one noticed the new Royal Wizard making out with his soon to be wife. They separated, and Harry whispered hoarsely, "Announce it at the reception?"

Ginny nodded, and they turned back to where the Royal couple were walking towards four very short and nervous looking hobbits, dressed in their old clothes, who began to bow before Aragorn forestalled with a raise of his hand and said quietly and with utter sincerity, "My friends ... you bow to no-one."

And he and Arwen dropped to one, everyone else following suit. Merry and Pippin's faces just screamed, 'No one is _ever_ going to believe us back home', Sam looked a bit uncomfortable, and Frodo… there was weariness there, but happiness as tears sprang to his eyes, holding onto Sam's shoulder.

That night, at the reception dinner for the coronation and the impending marriage of Aragorn and Arwen, before the dinner itself, Harry sought out Ron and asked, "Ron, I want to ask you something."

"Fire away mate," Ron said laconically.

Harry took a deep breath. This took far more courage than fighting monsters. "Ron, normally I would ask your parents, but they're not here. Do I have your permission to marry Ginny?"

Ron looked at him, then grinned widely, and said, "Of course, if you're both certain. You do realize that you're going to have to have two ceremonies?"

"I'm certain, and Ginny asked me in the middle of the coronation. Eh?"

"Mum will kill you both if she doesn't get the chance to organise your wedding," Ron said dryly as he reached for a goblet of wine.

Harry snorted, and said, "Thanks, Ron. Could you keep it quiet for the moment?"

Ron smiled after his best friend as he wended his way towards Aragorn, who did not look in the least perturbed by Harry's request to make an announcement. Ginny quickly made her way across to Harry, smiling widely, kissing him on the cheek.

"What was Harry asking about?" Hermione asked with a puzzled frown, having been chatting to Eowyn and Faramir. Ron just grinned, and she huffed at him and rolled her eyes.

Aragorn made his way to the stage assembled for the dinner, and stood, Harry and Ginny joining him. Everyone quickly quieted down, and looked up expectantly. Galadriel, Arwen and Elrond, all of whom having various methods of knowing exactly what was coming, wore knowing smiles.

"Harry and Ginny have informed me that they would like to make an announcement," Aragorn said quietly, and gestured to Harry and Ginny, who stepped forward.

"Hello, all of you. I would just like to say… Ginny and I are engaged to be married. She asked me, actually. That's all," Harry said, both he and Ginny grinning and blushing in concert as deafening cheers rose from the crowd before them, and Harry produced a pair of rings from one of his pockets, both gold inlaid with mithril and set with a single ruby each, to further cheers as he put one on Ginny's finger, then his own and kissed her passionately.

Hermione stared at Ron, then grinned at the happy couple, who were now accepting congratulations, Aragorn and Arwen being the first, closely followed by Sirius who grabbed his godson in a bear hug and clapped him on the back, laughing for joy. Tonight, all was sweetness and light. Tonight, everyone got their happy ending.

**Well, I hope everyone enjoyed that one. As for the next chapter… All I will say is that prophecies are an absolute **_**bitch**_** to write. **

**Please click the moderately sized box and make my heart a little happier as I come up to exams.**


	36. Chapter 36: Prophecy

**A/N: In which Eirian's power is revealed, Sirius inadvertently siriusly (I really must stop doing that) upsets Legolas and prophecies are heard, with at least one sneaky King Arthur reference. There is also some spectacular swearing. The first part is also something of a breather, considering the drama to come, and establishes Eirian as a character in her own right.**

**Also, if anyone catches the reference back to the very first chapter in one of the prophecies, I will award them a cookie. Also, the basic ideas for 'From Out of the Shadows' are laid out and planned. It will be coming this Summer, as this one ends. This should be the penultimate chapter. In the next, we meet Maglor, and discover a little more about the gates between Middle Earth and Harry's world. **

**RandomReader: I aim to please. **

**JSawyer: *snickers* Oh dear. Back in your hole laddie. If you're going to bitch about my fic, at least say what you didn't like about it. And don't cop out and say 'everything'. Constructive criticism I enjoy. Non constructive criticism is… boring.**

To say the party was exuberant would be an understatement. For one thing, despite Hermione's best efforts, Sirius got to the drinks, transfiguring them into something that everyone later agreed felt like it involved gold bricks and lemons. Consequently, the party had quickly gone from cultured celebration to near diplomatic fiasco as Elladan and Elrohir attempted to drunkenly flirt with Eowyn, who, being used to flirty drunks, pushed them away with sweet words and rolled eyes, then cuddled up to her slightly jealous looking soon-to-be-husband as they passed out.

Aragorn gave Sirius a series of utterly murderous looks as he attempted damage limitation, to which the former Marauder's response was merely to grin and raise a tankard in salute. Thankfully most people fell asleep quite quickly, or started singing. In Emry's case however, he ended up floating in mid-air, glowing and drunkenly giggling after one tankard and Miriel, who was for want of a better word his girlfriend, amused herself by tugging him along by his ankle, like some oversized balloon, much to his sister's amused exasperation.

The elves mostly just sat and looked amused, except for Glorfindel and Legolas, who Gimli had manipulated into a drinking contest. The two had downed ten tankards of Gargle Blaster each so far and showed no sign of slowing down, as a betting pool formed among those still sober.

"My Lord, I am so sorry…" Aragorn said, before Elrond cut him off.

"It is nothing, Estel. We all know who's responsible," Elrond said, directing a disapproving glare at an utterly unrepentant Sirius, "and most were unconscious before they could cause any trouble. Besides, they deserve a celebration. They have been the shield of the west for over a thousand years. I think we can afford to let them have a little fun."

Aragorn bowed his head in thanks, before organising the various guards into removing the various unconscious people to their rooms as a loud thump and a cheer heralded Glorfindel's victory in the drinking contest, and Sirius and Gimli's evil expressions boded ill for the comatose Legolas. This was borne out when Sirius muttered something and all of Legolas' hair fell out.

Glorfindel nearly fell over laughing as Sirius lazily vanished the hair and levitated the blissfully ignorant Legolas back towards his room, sniggering all the while.

Aragorn just sighed. "If Legolas murders them tomorrow morning, I do not plan to try and stop him."

"Of course, my love. We have more important things to do, anyway," Arwen said, kissing him lightly,

Aragorn barely restrained himself from breaking out into a wide grin, and bade the various elves good night.

"They look happy," Elrond said quietly, as the new couple left, Harry and Ginny already having left, probably to celebrate their newly engaged status passionately and in private.

"Let them be. They face great trials in the years to come. Trials that will come before we leave Middle Earth, I believe. It will be a time of great turmoil, a time in which the Moristar will be tested, along with those who stand beside him," Celeborn counselled him, his wife looking off to the west with a slightly surprised expression on her face.

Elrond cocked his head at his mother in law, who merely smiled and said nothing, before sighing nodding his acceptance.

The next morning, Legolas was indeed apoplectically angry, attempting to chase down Sirius and Gimli whilst screaming obscenities in Sindarin, and the two used the advantage of apparition to stay a safe distance, along with Glorfindel, who was more than able to keep out of Legolas' way under his own steam.

Harry poked his head sleepily out the window to see a bald Legolas madly chasing Glorfindel, who was laughing his head off, around the citadel courtyard.

"What is it Harry?" Ginny asked blearily, still half asleep.

"Legolas is bald for some reason. And he's chasing after and screaming at Glorfindel," Harry said, sleepily puzzled.

"Come back to bed then," Ginny said sleepily, rolling back over. Harry grinned and did just that.

Since Aragorn and Arwen had effectively been married there and then at the coronation, aside from the terrible hangovers and Harry and Ginny's engagement, no one really thought much of that night. Even a bald elf screaming swear words in Sindarin while his friends practically died laughing was not considered to be worth much comment in the city of Minas Tirith. Not after the Black Wizard and the Marauder took up residence.

The Hobbits woke up, and after eating several breakfasts, they wandered down to see a bald Legolas sulking under the White Tree, which was starting to put forth blossoms. Eirian was sitting next to him and patting him whilst trying to hold back giggles.

"Go on. Laugh. It's all anyone's done since I got up this morning, save Eirian," Legolas said dully. The Hobbits noted with surprise that he seemed near to tears, for once not calm and collected. Without looking up, he suddenly said, "It's not so much the hair, it's… the last person to do my hair was my mother. Ever since she died, I looked after it myself, and did it just the way she did it, as a way to remind myself of her. Now, my hair's gone and…" Legolas began to cry softly as his voice trailed off into incoherence.

The Hobbits were stunned. They'd seen Harry cry, they'd seen Boromir on the edge of despair, heard about Aragorn being driven to tears from a gleeful Elladan and Elrohir, they'd seen everyone weep for Harry. Save Legolas. He felt grief and sorrow as much, if not more so, than most, he just wasn't the crying sort. Until now, it seemed. Eirian hugged him as her eyes suddenly smouldered with the same fury that many had seen in her brother's eyes, usually right before they felt the cold embrace of death. Merry and Pippin edged away slowly, recognising the building sense of power that they had felt before Emrys had gone full on avenging angel at the Morannon.

Astonishingly, however, she began to sing in her mother tongue, a soft lullaby infused with power that fell over Legolas' head like a mantle. Then, very slowly, golden fuzz appeared on Legolas' head, quickly sprouting into a full head of hair that was at its original length in less than two minutes.

Merry and Pippin's jaws dropped, Frodo raised a solitary eyebrow, and Sam said dryly, "Do you think it works on plants?"

Frodo tapped him and pointed upwards. "I rather think it does."

Because the White Tree of Gondor was in full bloom, flowers opening all over in a sign of the life that was returning to Gondor.

Eirian rose, blushing as Legolas thanked her effusively, then stalked off to Sirius an earbashing he was guaranteed never to forget.

So began the days of the King.

"… DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU HURT HIM DOING THAT? HE WAS CRYING WHEN I FOUND HIM. _CRYING! _HE WAS SITTING UNDER THE WHITE TREE AND CRYING, EVEN THOUGH HE WAS TRYING TO HIDE IT, DID YOU KNOW THAT? HIS MOTHER USED TO DO HIS HAIR THE WAY HE DOES IT NOW, AND HE DOES IT SO HE WILL NEVER FORGET HER. THEN YOU REMOVED IT ALL. ALL! HOW COULD YOU DENY HIM THAT COMFORT? THEN YOU LAUGHED AT HIM FOR IT! HOW COULD HURT A FRIEND LIKE THAT? YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED SIRIUS BLACK, ASHAMED, I TELL YOU!"

Harry was wandering through the citadel, and was greeted with the sound of Eirian in full fury in the courtyard below and the sight of Emrys sitting with his fingers determinedly stuffed in his ears. Harry looked at him enquiringly, and Emrys rolled his eyes and mouthed 'Don't ask'.

The shouting temporarily stopped, and Emrys cautiously unplugged his ears and said, "Eirian doesn't get angry often, but when she does, it's fairly spectacular. A violent temper runs in the family."

"Unfortunately Sirius's is just as bad. And he's always been fairly rash," Harry said, looking out the window and seeing Sirius go steadily purple.

"YE GOD'S WOMAN! YOU'RE WORSE THAN MOLLY WEASLEY! IT'S LIKE HAVING MY OWN PERSONAL HOWLER FOLLOWING ME AROUND! I DIDN'T KNOW THAT LEGOLAS' BLOODY MOTHER BRAIDED HIS HAIR. I MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT TWICE IF I HAD. UNFORTUNATELY, OH SELF RIGHTEOUS ONE, I DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING," Sirius roared, matching the Dunlending girl's temper blood pressure point for blood pressure point.

"HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF SOMEONE REMOVED SOMETHING THAT REMINDED YOU OF YOUR MOTHER? HMM?"

"SINCE I HATED THE SPITEFUL OLD BITCH, I WOULD GET DOWN ON MY KNEES AND THANK THEM FOR FREEING ME OF THE MEMORY OF HER UNREMITTING HATE AND BILE, SO MAYBE I'M NOT THE BEST PERSON TO ASK. IN FACT, SINCE MY ENTIRE FAMILY HATED ME BECAUSE I DIDN'T THINK I WAS THE BEST THING SINCE SLICED BREAD AND HATE EVERYONE 'LESSER' JUST BECAUSE OF MY HIDEBOUND AND MURDEROUS ANCESTORS GRANTED ME WITH THEIR BLOOD AND THE NAME OF BLACK, AND DISOWNED ME, I'M PROBABLY THE WORST PERSON TO ASK! _SO LAY THE __**FUCK**__ OFF!" _

Blocking his ears with one arm, Harry wrote in the air with letters of fire, using a trick he'd picked up after the Chamber of Secrets, 'I think the screaming match is coming to an end. They'll be sulking now. I'll take Sirius, you take your sister'. Emrys nodded reluctantly, looking out the window. Indeed both participants had wandered off to sulk.

When Harry found Sirius, he was sitting on a bench outside the Houses of Healing and sulking spectacularly.

"Hey Sirius," Harry said.

"Hey Harry," was the sighed reply. "I take it you heard our argument?"

Harry fixed him with an incredulous look as he sat down beside him.

Sirius chuckled. "I guess you did."

"Sirius, half the city probably heard it. If you'd shouted just a _little_ louder, they would have heard you in Osgiliath," Harry said dryly.

Sirius eyed him and said, "You've grown up with a vengeance, haven't you?"

"Yes. You should probably apologise to Legolas," Harry said.

"I didn't mean to hurt him. She didn't even give me a chance to explain before starting in on me," Sirius whined, sounding about 5 years old.

"The faster you apologise, the faster he forgives and the faster Eirian forgives you. You have nothing to lose," Harry said firmly.

"Except my balls when Legolas sees me."

"So put him in a full body bind, then apologise to him," Harry suggested, getting up to leave, then pausing as Sirius nodded his reluctant acceptance.

"So, did you pull any other pranks?" he asked, and was immediately suspicious when Sirius looked shifty and started whistling innocently. As he did there was loud and indignant squawk from what sounded like a giant canary. Harry smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead and asked in a long suffering tone, "Who?"

"Eomer," Sirius said smugly.

"Sirius, remind me. How old are you?"

"Um, technically 44, but it didn't feel like time passed in Saruman's dungeon, so more like 36. Mind, that could have been how mind numbingly boring it was, torture excepted," Sirius said thoughtfully.

Indeed, Harry noticed, he barely had any grey hair, and aside from the still slight gauntness in his face, could have passed for 28 or so quite easily.

Harry shoved the thought aside, and said, "Then why are you acting like you're five?"

"Because I know something Voldemort didn't," Sirius said cryptically.

"What?"

"Getting old is inevitable. Growing up, however, is optional," Sirius said firmly, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Harry sighed and walked away, shaking his head and smiling slightly, disappearing with a crack.

As he left, Sirius grinned, then turned to stare as Aragorn raced past in a flat out sprint, promptly followed by a small but steadily multiplying flock of rabbits, Arwen's musical laughter clearly audible. Sirius just sat and stared as he witnessed Harry's revenge on Aragorn, then grinned. The boy was a true Marauder.

"Ah, Sirius, I was hoping to find you. Harry says you are ready to apologise, which is always good," Gandalf said, sitting down beside Sirius. "What I also wanted to know was this: are you responsible for Prince Eomer's current…"

Gandalf was at once at a loss for words, so Sirius supplied, "condition?"

"Yes, condition is the right word. Are you?"

"Maybe," Sirius said.

"I am not looking to punish you for it, Sirius," Gandalf said calmly, then leaned in and said out of the corner of his mouth, "in fact, I was hoping you could teach me the recipe."

Sirius laughed out loud and nodded. His day was already looking up.

The ensuing months passed without great incident. Eomer was cured, Sirius apologised to Legolas and Eirian, both of whom forgave him on realising that no harm was meant, though Legolas always kept half an eye on Sirius thereafter.

The rabbits following Aragorn were vanished, but only after they had cornered him in the throne room and multiplied to such an extent that they were hip deep, each rabbit standing on top of another and Arwen had been rendered helpless by laughter. Harry and Ginny were married to great public joy and approval, the love between the couple obvious to even the most oblivious observer, shining like a beacon across the stars. Indeed, the mass 'Aww', that followed the exchanging of the mithril rings (everyone, particularly Frodo, was still rather jumpy around simple gold rings), the vows and the ensuing kiss, had to be heard to be believed. The reception was somewhat marred by all the guests finding that the starters had been replaced with canary creams, only Sirius and Gandalf remaining in smugly non-canary form. Eomer sourly remarked afterwards that he was spending more time as a canary than as a human, and that next time they might as well make him stay that way permanently. Princess Lothiriel, seeing the gleam in Sirius' eyes, grabbed his arm protectively and loudly said that if someone changed Eomer permanently into a bird, they would be castrated. With a hammer and chisel. Sirius, taking the point, bowed politely, then hid behind Eirian, jokily beseeching her to protect him from the hordes of scary women all over the place.

Spontaneous canarification aside, little else happened, until Théoden declared that he could wait no longer and had to return to rebuild his nation. Emrys and Eirian elected to return as well, deciding to act as mediators in a peace process between the Dunlendings and the Rohirrim, and the rest of the Fellowship and extended friends and family decided to come along, the Witches and Wizards, the Elves, Hobbits, Gimli and Legolas because it was on the way home and also in the case of Gimli and Legolas, on the way to both the Caves of Aglarond beneath Helm's Deep and Fangorn Forest, and everyone else because, as Harry caustically reminded them, long distance travel wasn't exactly a problem.

But the chief reason was that there was a dark wizard and his minion to deal with, and it was better that they were dealt with sooner, rather than later. Emrys called dibs on the execution of Wormtongue, and the look in his eye meant that no one was particularly inclined to challenge him on that, if they had had any incentive in the first place.

When both criminals were taken out of their grimy cell, Grima cowered and grovelled, to no effect. Saruman, however, looked up at them, and for once there was no malice in his eyes, no hatred. Just a tired wisdom that hadn't been present for many years.

"I know you wish my death Moristar, for all that I have done, but I would have thee hear my last warning," he said quietly. Harry looked at him for several long moments, then nodded slowly.

"Thank you. Listen to me now Wizard, for this is your destiny:

_Wizard of another world,_

_Bearer of an elder blade and descendant of its maker,_

_Your power shall soon be unfurled,_

_But beware, in the battles to come you must be faster,_

_You will be either the brightest light,_

_Or herald of the darkest night,_

_Of this new Age. _

_Your power is great,_

_And you have vanquished many a mighty foe,_

_But those that are still to come are even greater,_

_And they will bring much woe,_

_So I beseech thee, look for falling star,_

_Not all who fall are evil or beyond redemption,_

_Three who have and will fall shall serve the light and travel afar,_

_From one you shall have to find it in you to withhold condemnation_

_And beware the bright gem,_

_Beware night's doors,_

_Trust your friends, cleave to them,_

_Or a fate of shadows and darkness shall be yours,_

_Your only hope of salvation,_

_Is in your friends and their legendary relation."_

Harry looked at him very carefully, but Saruman was not finished. He turned to Eirian and Emrys.

"_Hail to thee, scions of mighty sorcerer_

_And mightier Ainur,_

_Your power is great, and shall one day be that of legend,_

_But have a care that such tales do not have a grievous end._

_I tell thee, beauteous singer, Mistress of the golden melody,_

_Love conquers all,_

_And I tell thee, mighty warrior, Master of the fiery sword_

_There are worse things in this world than death._

_And for all of you, this final message for the depths of your heart_

_Alone you are strong, but together you are more than the sum of each part."_

Finally, Saruman turned to Frodo, and said, "Ringbearer. I bear you no malice, but I tell you, your wounds are too great for you to find a lasting peace here. I talk not only of your physical wounds, for the Moristar's ancestor healed many of those, but the wounds of the heart take longer still to heal, and may not heal here."

As the company digested these words, no hint of lies or trickery about them, Saruman said wearily, "There. I am finished. Bring an end to it, Darkness Slayer for my time is up, and I wish for rest."

"Thank you Saruman, for your warning. It may undo some of the evil you have wrought, and it has earned you a clean death. _Avada Kedavra_!" Harry said, the green light striking Saruman and rendering him instantly dead. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Sirius, Elrond and Aragorn, all recognising the darkness of the spell, raised eyebrows or looked surprised, but said nothing, too busy digesting the last prophecies of Saruman the White.

Then they all turned to Grima, who was cowering in abject terror. Emrys unsheathed one of his swords, hefting the blade, before he was interrupted.

"Brother, wait!"

"Eirian you cannot be thinking of letting him go," Emrys said, shocked at his sister's interruption. He lowered his voice and said, "remember what he did to you. What he and his master have done to our friends. Sirius tortured, Harry nearly murdered, Theodred poisoned, Théoden enslaved, Eowyn harassed and you raped."

Eirian fixed him with a cool look and said tartly, "I have not forgotten, dear brother, but I have devised a punishment of my own for him. One longer lasting than the sweet release of death."

Emrys cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged and stepped back. Eirian went down on her haunches and grabbed Grima's face, forcing him to look at her.

"Look at me, Wormtongue. You violated me, you tortured my friends, you sought to destroy everything good in this world. All your master wanted was power. For all his atrocities he had nothing personal against any of us, and in the end he sought to do good, and went to his death with dignity," she said, pausing and looking him up and down contemptuously, noting the stench of urine that denoted that Wormtongue had lost control of his bowels. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"So kill me, and have done with it," Grima said sullenly, avoiding her eyes.

"No. That would be too easy. Your punishment shall be thrice," Eirian said, her voice so cold that frost could have formed in mid-air without it being out of place, and it took on a mesmerising, lilting tone, obvious power coalescing in her very being.

"Punishment the first: You shall always have a crippling fear of the blades and power of these seven, whom you have each wronged personally. They shall appear your every nightmare, whether waking or sleeping, garbed in the raiment of their battle fury: My brother, the Avenger. Harry, the Darkness Slayer. Sirius, the Marauder. Théoden, the Defender. Theodred, the Green Knight. Eowyn, the Wraith Killer. And I, the Doom Singer. And it is your doom I sing now. Punishment the second. You shall bear these three marks," she sang softly, touching both cheeks lightly with index and forefinger, then his forehead, leaving one ugly silver mark in each place her fingertips touched.

"By each of these eternal and impossible to hide marks, all shall instinctively know that you are a traitor, a rapist, and a coward, and shun you as the monster you are. Finally, you shall age, but until you achieve redemption for your sins, you shall not die. Even if you are struck with many mortal wounds, you shall hurt but still live. You shall have no peace while you still live. Now go. Run, little mortal, and remember your folly in antagonising the children of Merlin," Eirian finished coldly as she finished weaving her spell, standing straight, silvery light playing around her hair and flecking her eyes.

Grima obligingly screamed and ran as if the seven he now feared above all were hunting him. As he disappeared into the distance, Eirian turned around and smiled sunnily at the rest, who all stared at her with a mixture of fear and awe. "Now. Who wants lunch?"

No one said anything for a long moment, then Harry turned to Emrys and said, "Tell me. When did your sister get _unbelievably_ scary?"

**Enjoy? I thought the punishment was somewhat poetic, myself (not one, but three marks of Cain, as it were). Please click the box below and tell me what liked, what disliked, what you loved and what you hated.**


	37. Chapter 37: Many Meetings

**A/N: As WorldStrider pointed out, the last chapter was a little (okay, a lot) insane. So less of the canaries and more of the drama for this last chapter, and for much of the sequel, since I think there's been more than enough madness for one fic, and the Canary!Eomer running gag has (mostly) run its course.**

**As regards Celeborn's Quenya name: I swear to the Lord God Almighty that I am not joking. Look it up on Wikipedia if you don't believe me.**

**Ok, I'm fairly certain that a short epilogue after this is the order of the day (after this), posted concurrently with the first chapter of the sequel (full work on that probably won't start for a while). Possibly with an eventual side of oneshots filling various gaps (Snippets from the Shadows, or something like that) and maybe (eventually) a full length prequel. If you lot are all VERY good and review lots.**

**Anon: Most interesting, but may I point out that these women live tough lives, and are physically strong, a lot of them would have to fight off wolves, wargs, raiding orcs and Dunlendings and the like. They can fight, however your point on that (and on the grey company chapter), is noted with interest. Pity you don't have an account, this would be much easier (and more interesting).**

Saruman's execution was over, the war was over, and the Rohirrim took this as a cue to celebrate. Again. Chaos was averted by Ginny's effective distraction of Harry (i.e. snogging him so much that he rarely came up for air, let alone for long enough to foment chaos) and Eirian clamping a vice like grip on Sirius' right arm and refusing to let go.

The set of her jaw rather discouraged argument, and Sirius didn't seem to mind. Much. Though what she whispered in his ear greatly restored his good mood, while causing Emrys to idly wonder if taking him aside for the traditional if-you-hurt-her-I'll-remove-all-your-internal-organs-and-make-you-eat-your-own-testicles speech would be a good idea. He eventually judged that it could wait. Besides, he had Miriel to think about. Which was something he rather enjoyed doing, not that anyone needed to know about that. For one thing, most would be amused to see Sir Emrys the Valiant, now a full knight of Rohan, the Avenger and an absolute demon with a blade, preferably two, who coolly killed trolls without breaking a sweat, agonising over a girl. That and the inevitable laughter that would follow the revelation that he had been writing love poems. Badly.

Eventually Ron sickened of the sounds of his sister and brother-in-law making out and separated them with a flick of his wand and a sound similar to that of a plunger being removed.

"Either carry on elsewhere, or stop it," he said levelly, returning to his dinner. "And if you stay here, no pranks. Just this once. For the sake of my sanity."

"Well, I can't go putting my brother-in-law and best friend in a madhouse, now can I?" Harry said cheerfully, then turned to Ginny and said huskily, "Mrs Potter, I think we could continue this more productively elsewhere, don't you?"

"Well Mr Potter, I think you might just be right. Let's take our leave," Ginny said, matching his tone.

"GO on. Before you start doing it on the table," Ron muttered, then wished he hadn't when Harry eyed the table speculatively.

"Nah. Too much chance of splinters," Harry said casually, standing and signalling to Théoden, who rolled his eyes and waved them away.

"See you later," Ginny said cheerfully, waving at everyone as they left, earning a cheer and several thankfully muffled comments from the feasters.

"Remember to silence your bedroom this time," Ron called after them, receiving a raised middle finger from Harry as the happy couple stumbled out of the hall in mid snog. He turned back to Hermione, who was looking after them thoughtfully.

"You know Ron, I think that maybe they have the right idea," Hermione said softly. Ron raised an eyebrow. Hermione raised both and kissed him.

Théoden looked down the table and sighed. He stood up and said, slightly irately, "Anyone else who wishes to leave the banquet with their loved one to attend to… other business, may do so. Now."

A drunken cheer arose, and roughly one third of those present left, including Sirius and Eirian, the former being happily dragged by the latter. Legolas looked up and sighed.

"Humans," he said to Gimli. "Only ever thinking of one thing."

"Aye laddie. Let's just hope that Harry remembered to silence his room this time," Gimli said, taking a pull of ale.

"Yes," Legolas said with a shudder of remembrance, "Let's."

Thankfully, Ginny remembered to silence the room before the throes of passion commenced, as did Hermione. The next day, the inevitable was faced. The Ring of the War was over, and the Fellowship that had fought in it was no longer needed, though forever bound by bonds of friendship. So they split up, or rather, Gimli and Legolas left to explore the caves and forests, and Théoden, Theodred, Eowyn, Eomer, Emrys, Eirian and Faramir remained in Rohan.

There were hugs, tears and proclamations of eternal friendship. Harry simply said, "I _will_ see you all again. Count on it," before hugging them tightly.

Sirius' goodbye to Eirian was in the form of a passionate snog that had Emrys glaring protectively at the couple, and after Sirius detached himself from Eirian and the two made their goodbyes, Emrys whispered something that made Sirius go white and nod slowly as Emrys grinned a vaguely feline grin. It seemed that inspiring fear was a family trait among the children of Merlin, but this did not stop mass sniggering as Eirian began reading Emrys' love poetry. In a magically enhanced voice, courtesy of Sirius, who was wearing an evil grin. In public.

Emrys looked alternately as if he wished to do die of embarrassment or murder his sister for much the same reason, though he was much mollified by Miriel kissing him, not merely snogging, but kissing. Suddenly, he was feeling very well disposed to Sirius and his sister indeed. As the kissing continued, other activities resumed.

"Where are we going next Harry?" Hermione asked.

"The Grey Havens. I have some business there, and I feel that I should explain some things to you all…" Harry said, taking a deep breath and launching into the long explanation of the Feanorion family, more specifically, Maedhros and Maglor.

"… and Maglor was the second son of Feanor, who created the Silmaril's, three gems that started a war between Morgoth and just about everybody else. Indirectly it caused the Kinslayings and it got the Noldor shut out of Valinor when they left. Maglor was the kindest and eldest, deadly in battle, but he raised Lord Elrond and his brother, Elros, after sparing them in the search for the Silmaril. He was a great singer even by Elven standards, considered the greatest after Daeron and Luthien. His nephew, Celebrimbor, made the rings of Power (save the One Ring) and Maglor's punishment for his many misdeeds under his father's oath was to walk the coasts of the world forever. He was released once before, to meet and fall in love with Ron and Ginny's ancestress. Now he has been released. Forever," Harry said, looking levelly at the utterly shocked looking group with him. Only Gandalf, Celeborn and Galadriel didn't seem surprised at this revelation.

"Well. That explains a lot," Sirius finally said.

"Hmm?"

"You're an even better Quidditch player than your father Harry, and I'm willing to bet you won't need glasses any more soon enough. I've been watching you, and you're quicker than anyone I've ever seen. Besides, you seemed to have inherited Maedhros' temper," Sirius said with a grin.

Harry stuck his tongue out at him, and said, "Do you want to see him?"

Ginny and Ron shared a look then nodded. "He's family. And he's suffered more than enough," Ron supplied.

"That's what I told Gandalf," Harry muttered.

"How long have you known about this, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Since just after my return from the hereafter. Gandalf got a message from some top Maiar guy called Eonwe, and passed it on to me. He explained a bit about Maglor, which I've told you. I didn't want to say at first because, well, I was not long alive again. After that I was… distracted," He said, smiling at Ginny, who kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Why Harry, you flatter me," she breathed flirtily.

"Nothing but the truth, darling," Harry whispered tenderly, "You are my world."

Ron made retching noises as the two stared deep into one another's eyes, garnering no response for the deeply in love couple, who leaned forward to kiss.

"You should tell Elrond about this, and Arwen and her brothers," Hermione said reprovingly.

"You do it," Harry said tersely, surfacing for air briefly.

"You should be the one to tell them," Hermione rebuked him

"Get Gandalf to do it," was the abrupt reply.

Hermione looked despairingly at Ron, who shrugged and said, "We're getting no sense out of them tonight. Come on. Gandalf'll probably explain it better anyway."

Hermione nodded reluctantly. "Certainly better than Harry would in this state."

Once Gandalf had been coerced into performing the explanation, Elrond, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn sat, shocked that one of the Kinslayers was a free range elf once more.

Finally Elrond said, after much thought, "I will go and see him. I require none of you to go with me, but I feel that I owe him for the kindness he showed Elros and I as children, and that he has suffered enough. Besides, I feel that Harry, Ron and Ginny encapsulate the best aspects of the Feanorion line. The passion, the courage, the intelligence and the kindness… those are all Maglor and Maedhros. And they give me hope that he can be as they are, and throw off the past." Then his face darkened. "But there is still that damned oath to contend with."

"Feanor was not blessed with the Sight, though that would have saved much trouble. Or caused more. Nevertheless, he did not foresee Wizards, or part Maia when making the oath," Gandalf said, smiling slightly.

"So, redemption by blatant loophole abuse, eh? What's not to like?" Sirius said, levitating a tray of drinks over.

"Indeed, Sirius, you have, to use one of Harry's delightful idioms, 'hit the nail on the head'," Gandalf said.

"I'm guessing Harry's time here has made a few waves, linguistically speaking," Sirius said.

"You could say that," Elrond muttered as the twins started sniggering.

"So, we're all visiting Maglor at the Grey Havens, then?" Gandalf said, cutting off the imminent crude and likely rambling discussion before it could get going.

The children of Elrond and Aragorn all shared a look, then nodded.

"Harry, Ginny and Ron and Hermione are as well, but I wouldn't recommend interrupting the first two at the moment. For one thing, they would both hex you, then probably carry on regardless," Sirius said bluntly.

Elladan looked up at Sirius as Arwen smothered a grin, and said flatly, "That was a mental image I really did not need. Thank you, thank you so much."

Sirius bowed mockingly, "glad to be of service."

Elladan raised both fingers at Sirius experimentally, and was rewarded with delighted laughter from Sirius and a snapped, "Elladan!" from his father.

"Sorry," Elladan said sheepishly, then asked inquisitively, "what exactly does it mean? I know it means something derogatory, but not what."

"Mr Black, I would prefer it is you did not further the corruption of my sons, daughter and son in law. Or at least wait until I am not present," Elrond said levelly before Sirius could explain.

"We had better make preparations then," Elrond said, as Sirius subsided.

The cavalcade made its way through the Gap of Rohan, onto Rivendell, where most of the servants and soldiers stopped at, whereupon Harry smugly created a series of portkeys to the Shire, where the Hobbits were dropped off and the group spent a week, in which there was much feasting and Ron was made an honorary hobbit, Merry and Pippin loudly pronouncing that he was the only one of the 'Big Folk' who ate anywhere near the right amount of food by Hobbit standards, which Hermione responded to with an affectionate eyeroll.

Boromir (Aragorn having sent Faramir back to Rohan by portkey with instructions to help Théoden and rebuild Gondor), and Aragorn spent some time reassuring the Mayor of Buckland and Thain of the Tooks that while he was technically their Lord and High King, he thought it best to leave the affairs of Hobbits in the hands of Hobbits, while promising them a small garrison at Bree to repel any wandering Orc bands, an arrangement all concerned were happy with, while Ginny and Arwen rekindled their close friendship, and proved to get on very well with Rosie Cotton, who Sam blatantly fancied, and the three could often be seen chatting.

Gandalf, Harry and Sirius proved to be a hit with the younger Hobbits, who listened attentively to tales of war, adventure, pranks and magic, to the mild disapproval of their elders, who feared that some might go seeking out adventures. Certainly, they said, the big folk have done well by Masters Brandybuck, Took and Gamgee, but what about Master Baggins? The Sackville-Bagginses were loudest in saying that his glowing finger was a sign that he was too close to the world of the Big Folk for comfort. However they did not speak too loudly, especially not when Samwise Gamgee was around.

Eventually the group moved on as it began to sink in to the minds of the residents that some of the most powerful beings in Middle Earth were casually wandering through their homeland, and they beginning to get a little uncomfortable about this. Around two weeks later, they arrived at Mithlond, where they were greeted by Cirdan.

"Welcome, my Lords and Ladies, to Mithlond! It is so wonderful to see you all again, Mithrandir, Elrond, Arta- sorry, Galadriel and Celeborn. Though many are among you who I have not had the chance to meet," Cirdan said, as many who had not met him before were dumbstruck by his silver beard, which was pretty much unique among the Elves, and had most of the wizards thinking of Santa Claus.

"These are my sons and daughter, Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen, the new High Queen of Gondor and Arnor, my former ward and current son in law, High King Elessar I, though I suspect he would prefer to be referred to merely as Aragorn whilst he is here," Elrond said, receiving a nod of confirmation from Aragorn. "Also present are Lord Boromir, Steward and Captain-General of Gondor and Arnor, Prince Legolas Thranduilion, Lord Gimli, son of Gloin. We also have a contingent of wizards, from another world, Lord Sirius of the House of Black, his ward, Lord Harry of the House of Potter, now the first Royal Wizard of the Reunited Kingdoms," Harry took the opportunity to light up his staff, which gained a nod of respect from Cirdan, who was clearly admiring the workmanship, "his wife, Lady Ginevra," Ron and Harry suppressed snickers as Ginny levelled a death glare at Elrond, who smoothly continued, "of the House of Weasley, who prefers to be known merely as Ginny, her kinsman, Lord Ron of the House of Weasley and his wife, Lady Hermione of the House of Granger."

It was very obvious, Harry thought, that Elrond had once been King Gil-Galad's Herald, and seemed to automatically slide back into this role in the company of an elf who would have remembered when he was a child with ease. Certainly, his smooth address caused raised eyebrows from Hermione.

"Harry is of the line of Maedhros. Ginny and Ron are of the line of Maglor," Elrond finished, which caused Cirdan to give the three some very sharp looks, evaluating them.

"Indeed they are. He," he said, pointing at Harry, "has Maedhros' eyes and much of his fire, as well as Maglor's hair. They," he said, moving on to Ginny and Ron, "Have Maedhros' hair, yet there is something in their bearing and face… that is pure Maglor. I see in them the fire of Feanor wedded with the calm and gentleness of Nerdanel. Truly, these are the last of the line of Feanor, and, I warrant, some of the greatest."

Harry raised an eyebrow and said dryly, "Thanks."

Cirdan's lips twitched and then he said in a more grave tone of voice, "I take it you are here to see Maglor? I half hope that you are here to take him away. The presence of one of the kinslayers among the Teleri in Middle Earth, even after being released from his punishment, is a difficult and divisive one. He has been fairly quiet since he arrived, and seems truly sorry for his past. One young fool of an elf decided to attack, misguidedly seeking to avenge dead friends and family. Maglor did nothing, just sat and took the beating, despite that I know for a fact that he could have killed the young one in a scant moment, tears running down his face that had nothing to do with the pain…" He shook his head. "Familiar faces may help him, but I would advise that you tell him about his new family gently. And then there is that damn oath to contend with."

Elrond smiled and said, "That last we can help with. Nowhere in the oath does it say that wizards cannot absolve one of the oath itself."

Cirdan goggled, quite a sight in such an elderly elf, then burst into laughter. "Oh very clever, Master Elrond, very clever. I always marked you as a wise one, and so you prove to be."

"Thank you, Lord Cirdan. Now if we could?"

"Of course, follow me. I would suggest only Galadriel, Celeborn and Elrond enter at first, as they are the only three whose forms he will recognise, so he can adjust," Cirdan said.

Catching the confused looks on various faces, Gandalf added, "I wore a different form during the War of Wrath. Maglor would not recognise me as I am now, not immediately at least. Cirdan's advice is wise. We had better get him acclimated to our presence before he meets you."

The arrived at Maglor's room, and without prompting, Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn went in, closely followed by Cirdan. The rest settled down to wait to meet the probably crazy elf, watching the sun glimmer on the river before them, enjoying the undoubted beauty of the havens. But Harry could do nothing but pace. He had family, living family that might actually care about him, and truth be told, he was nervous. So, the sun set on the far west of Middle Earth as one Wizard paced, and his companions merely watched.

Elrond entered the room first, and saw Maglor sitting on the bed, looking pensive as scrolls, books and maps were scattered around him in a haphazard fashion.

"Maglor?" he said tentatively, and the Feanorion looked up sharply, then his eyes widened to comical proportions.

"Elrond?" he said disbelieving, then grinned, running to greet his former ward. "Eru, it is you!"

Elrond hugged him, tears running down both their faces.

"How are you? I haven't seen you for two ages at least!" Maglor asked, stepping back from the hug.

"I am well, old friend, I am well, and it is more than two ages, for we have entered the Fourth Age of this world. Sauron is destroyed, once and for all, and the world is at peace," Elrond said, smiling and suddenly looking much younger.

"That is good, that is very good. I hear that you now have children, and that the descendants of Elros still live," Maglor said, still not having noticed Celeborn and Galadriel, who bore their being ignored with remarkable good grace.

"Aye. My twin sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and my daughter Arwen. She has married the last of Elros' line, the new King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor," Elrond said, and Maglor did not miss the slight tremor in his voice.

"She has made the choice of the Peredhil, has she not? And your sons?" Maglor said sympathetically.

"She is happy. And that is all that matters. I believe they will choose to remain elves, but I do not know for certain. But it is not to talk about my children, as delightful as they are," Elrond said.

Maglor looked quizzically at the younger elf, and asked, "Then what are you here to talk about?"

"Your children, Lord Maglor," Galadriel said quietly.

Maglor's eyes widened, and bowed to Galadriel and Celeborn, "My apologies, Lord Teleporno, Lady Artanis. I was so wrapped up in greeting Elrond that I did not see you." Then he looked puzzled as raucous, incredulous and poorly muffled laughter came from outside, and Celeborn sighed long-sufferingly.

"We prefer Galadriel and Celeborn these days, for many reasons. One of them being that the descendants of you and your brother find my husband's former name hilarious. Indeed, the first time your brothers descendant came to Lothlorien, he had to excuse himself from our presence because he nearly fell over laughing. Of course, while he refused to say what it meant on the correct grounds that it was indecent, I saw it in his mind," Galadriel said, mouth twitching as she retained her famed calm and equilibrium with some difficulty, as Celeborn settled for looking grumpy.

Maglor of course had not registered anything past the word 'descendant', as it evoked memories. Memories of a happy time, memories of a world where his trials were over, where a pretty and vivacious young witch called Marion Weasley stole his heart. The memories had faded over the trials of the millennia after she had died and he had been returned to his torture, but now they came back at full strength, leaving him adrift in a sea of happy memory.

"Descendants?" he asked quietly, not daring to believe it.

"Yes, Maglor, descendants, almost all witches and wizards. Your line survived, and two stand outside, though I am informed there are many more. Your many times granddaughter has married Maedhros' descendant, the one I spoke of earlier, a powerful wizard in his own right, and they are deeply-"

"And noisily," Celeborn muttered, earning a look of rebuke from his wife. Maglor's lips twitched into a smirk, but he said nothing.

"- in love. All played a part in vanquishing Sauron," Galadriel finished.

"They know your past, and they wish to meet you. Not to condemn you for the past, but to help you find your future. Maedhros' get, Harry, has never really had family who loved him, his parents having been murdered by a powerful fell sorcerer when he was a baby," Elrond said, then paused. "However that story is his to tell. They wish to meet you, and so do some others, Olorin among them."

"Olorin's here? Oh, he's one of the Istari isn't he?" Maglor said, waving at some of the many well-read scrolls and maps on the shelves and desk.

"That he is," Elrond nodded.

"Very well. I will meet this family of mine, though I blame your bad influence if they are rowdy," Maglor said in a falsely stern voice. Elrond spluttered indignantly as the ancient elf went to open the door.

Everyone in the corridor started as a dark haired elf opened the door and beamed. "I am told I have a family and they would like to meet me." Then he frowned in puzzlement, and said, "All right, first things first. Who's who? Because I don't wish to get my many time grandson mixed up with Olorin by accident. It would be embarrassing for all concerned."

Sirius turned to Harry and said dryly, "Suddenly I have no trouble seeing how he's some sort of distant uncle of yours. Only you talk like that. So did James, funnily enough, when Lily got him flustered."

Harry pouted, but could not deny the essential truth of his words. He did babble. Just a little bit.

**Well? Please, Read and Review, and reward my hard and ill-timed work. Also, I'd like to see guesses as to the content of the sequel, if only because I want to see how close the guesses get to the actual (rough) plan. Certainly, the finale is already done, and dripping with EPIC.**


	38. Chapter 38: And Finally

**The Wizard in The Shadows now has a TV Tropes Page which needs more love.**

**And finally, the epilogue. Yes, I know, it's short. Deal with it.**

**This fic has taken around two years or more, but I think you'll agree that it's definitely been worth it. To round things off, a chapter from Maglor's perspective. Before you ask, Maglor is many thousands of years old (seriously, he's easily old enough to be Elrond's dad, and Elrond is around seven thousand), and was for much of that time a commander and a statesman. That and the fact that he is the kindest and most empathic of his family, allied to a very sharp mind and elven intuition, means that he is excellent at judging people.**

**Maglor POV: **

They sit before, chatting amongst themselves. My family. My blood. I still repeat that to myself in wonder, and thank the Valar (oh, Ada must turning in his grave. Or what passes for one) for this good fortune. All of them resemble Maedhros and I in one fashion or another, though the innocence and mischief in Harry's eyes that I occasionally see is pure Amrod and Amras, and there is a darkness in all of them that I associate with Celegorm and Ada. Thankfully, however, it is deeply buried. The other wizard, Sirius Black, watches over them all, a strange combination of relaxed parent and adult child. Both he and Harry have a wicked streak a mile wide, one that if even half the stories I have been told in the three hours they have been here are true, is regularly indulged.

However, I find it difficult to believe that one of the Princes of Rohan was regularly turned into a canary, which I believe to a small yellow songbird. When I brought up the issue of size, Harry said blithely that it wasn't a small canary. The image of a giant and confused looking yellow songbird is a most amusing one, and I suspect I have only begun to hear of their antics.

Their other companions are good humoured, but generally more solemn. Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond's sons, who favour their father heavily in looks (and attitude, if they but knew how much trouble Elrond and Elros got into), laugh often, but there is a steel in them, which does not surprise me. I have heard that they were the ones to discover their mother, and my heart aches for them. No child should have such a fate thrust upon them, but in the wars that plague both worlds, it happens far too often. Olorin, or Gandalf, as he prefers to be known in these latter days, seems to mostly watch and add the occasional droll observation, eyes twinkling. The rest treat him with a superficial cheerful disrespect, but they listen carefully to what he has to say, and take it to heart.

Elrond was a more solemn man than he once was, more worn, but after several millennia of holding back Sauron and raising three children, along with what happened to Celebrian, I am not surprised. And he still smiles, despite the shadow of his daughter's chosen mortality. Galadriel reveals little, as does Celeborn, but I suspect both are glad their time in Middle Earth is coming to an end at long last, wearied by thousands of years of repelling the shadow. Boromir, the only truly mortal man among them but none the lesser for it, is much like my descendant, Ron. Somewhat impulsive, and extremely loyal, but mellowed with age and wisdom shines in his eyes. No longer is he merely the brash and talented Captain-General, he has added hard earned wisdom to that, and he will make a fine Steward as well as a stalwart friend and ally.

Finally, there is Arwen. Ah, but she is a beauty to behold, truly reminiscent of Luthien, right down to the shapely curved body (what? I'm male and possessed of a functioning libido, and she is not closely related to me) and the eyes that sparkle with life but are dimmed by the pain of knowing that she and her mortal lover will face death in but the blink of an immortals eye. But I know she does not regret it in the slightest, and though it saddens her brothers and father, I believe she has made the right choice. I know the pain of losing a loved one, as does Sirius, it seems, by the way he watches them, but we both know that each moment of joy is worth an eternity of pain.

In his eyes I see the desire to pull them all close and defend them from the ills of the world, and never risk losing them again is a familiar one to me, as I felt it when I lost my wife and beheld my children, who did not understand why their mother was gone but their father had not aged a day. I suspect, due to his protectiveness towards Harry, that he holds himself responsible for his failure in protecting Harry and his parents. This is why I am not surprised when they tell me Sirius can turn into a dog at will, for I see the pack instinct and loyalty of a great hound in his spirit.

Harry is more of a lone wolf, cat or a hawk (he is one of those people who can speak for hours yet say nothing and getting a read off those people is rather difficult. Of course, his is intentional rather than that of fools who merely say nothing of consequence and are depressingly easy to identify), occasionally going it alone with wild majesty and acting as if he were a mystery (this may have something to do with his 'saving people thing'), but fearsomely loyal to those he loves, like a burning flame, a beacon of light in the dark. Ginny is a firebrand, and I see Maglor's and Ada's passion in her, more obvious than Harry's, and her spirit is that of a horse, powerful yet peaceful, strong yet calm, but with a wild streak that no living being can truly tame, like the winds of the North, and an equal fury when roused.

From the looks she and Harry exchange, and their closeness, I feel that neither wants it any other way, and I am happy for them, as her wind feeds his fire, and his fire whips the wind into new frenzy.

Ron is more like a great bear, gentle and quiet, friendly to those he likes, yet fearsome and truly elemental in his raw power when angered.

Hermione… ah, now, there is a spirit with a grace, a grace that has yet to be fully realised, like a half grown sea otter that is still testing its limits, and a thirst for knowledge that is reminiscent of Elrond's lives within her. I suspect that is why she and Ron are drawn to one another, opposites balancing one other out, water enlivening the earth and the earth providing a channel for the water and preventing it from spreading too widely. Though some who do not know them might say it, I could never see Hermione with Harry, because his fire would be doused by her water, or her water turned to steam by the heat of his flame. Eventually, one would outshine and blot out the other, and neither would be happy.

Look at me. Already I'm analysing these people in the terms I understand, as forces of nature. Maedhros always said he read character in the way people walked and held themselves, imagining them on a battlefield. He also once said that he imagined people naked if they sought to intimidate him. I am certain he was joking, though I must admit, it is quite within the realms of the possible that he did that all the time. Certainly, it would explain his subtly roving eyes, though that could also be his warrior instincts constantly checking his surroundings.

My long deceased brother's rampant paranoia and/or perversion aside (I am inclined towards the former. Not for nothing did he occasionally sneak up on a dozing sentry and bellow, 'Constant Vigilance'), I instinctively liked my new family. They made me laugh in ways I had not for many millennia, and banished my lurking darkness by their presence. I also noted their power, which rolled off them in waves; Harry like a roaring flame, enormous power with potential yet to be realised, and still somewhat poorly controlled, Ginny like the wind she reminds me of, often quiet and soft, but with the potential of whipping up an awe-inspiring storm at a moment's notice, Ron of the earth itself, raw power hidden and waiting to be released like a predator at rest, Hermione of the sea, preferring to lap at the shores of the world, wearing down instead of overwhelming, yet capable of being strongest of them all with the correct application, with depths yet unexplored.

Sirius like the hound whose form he took, explosive power coiled and able to be released with surgical precision and ruthless strength. Here were five with the power to do pretty much whatever they wished, yet they used their power for the betterment of the world, and three of them were directly related to me. Permit me a moment as a proud parent, for I have not had the chance for at least six thousand years.

Yes, my family are a fine group. Very fine indeed.

I jerked out of my thoughts as Gandalf said, "Thinking deep thoughts, Maglor?"

I smiled. "Just the thoughts of an old elf, Gandalf. I am glad to be in the presence of young ones such as these, they make me feel young again. Or how my youth might have felt if Ada had actually done much as a father," I added sourly.

"It is a good thing he is not here," Gandalf said.

"Oh, Eru yes," I said loudly, "He would be deriding the workmanship of all the armour, jewellery, clothing, furniture and architecture in the room, whilst eyeing everyone to see if they had stolen his precious baubles." Parodying my father's most strident tones, I said nasally, "Honestly, Maglor, I am very disappointed; you are reduced to associating with mortals of all things! And look at this shelf, typical bloody Teleri work, all they do is build ships they never use and build their furniture like their ships. I half expect them to put sails on them and put them out to sea. And these books! They stole my Tengwar script the bastards! Have they taken my shiny stones? You know, the shiny stones more beautiful than any in history that I showed off in front of everyone and didn't expect to be stolen? The shiny stones I was too stubborn to use to remake the two trees because I was feeling petulant, despite the fact I could have remade them in an afternoon with a log fire, a couple of nails and the sheer power of my overwhelming ego?"

My audience appreciated this, Galadriel laughing aloud. I assume that she remembered ada's presumption in demanding hair from her head to make jewellery. Ada always seemed to think that tact was for lesser immortals, the world operated for his sole convenience, and that the Spirit of Fire was above such things as courtesy, kindness , taking responsibility for one's actions and paying even the slightest bit of attention to family, unless he wanted us to take on his insane quest, to kill in his name, to be the tools he saw us as, good for nothing but glorifying his name. Yes. You could say I have issues with my thankfully very dead ada. Speaking of which…

"Gandalf. I have not been released from my oath," I said simply. He looked at me, expressionless, and I hastily added, "I don't _want _to chase after Ada's greatest folly. I've seen enough of the things for which my brothers died horrible deaths, committed worse atrocities and which led to the corruption of this beautiful world. But…"

"Your oath is a binding one," Gandalf said, then he smiled, and said to me, "the oath does not mention mortal wizards. Especially not part elven wizards."

I just stared at him. Blankly. For a very long time. I didn't notice everyone looking at me, and in the case of my relatives, Hermione, Boromir and Sirius, grinning.

"I… will be free?" I whispered. Gandalf nodded.

"Sirius. Say the words," Gandalf said.

Sirius complied happily. "Maglor Feanorion. I free you from your oath."

Then, I, Maglor, kinslayer and hardened soldier, stoic sufferer of eternal torment, broke down in tears. Happy tears, but tears none the less. I cried for a long time, and felt several people hugging me. I hugged them back, and was deliriously happy. Because, just like Harry, I was with family I loved, people who cared for me, friends and I was free. Truly free. Like my many times nephew, I had walked from out of the shadows. And into the light.

**Aaaand I think that's a good note on which to finish this mammoth enterprise, don't you? For all those who have followed since pretty much the beginning (Sharnorasian Empire, this means you. The rest of you know who you are), thank you. Thank you for the encouragement, the kind reviews, the fair advice and the patience. Thank you for all of it. As you may have guessed, Harry's tale is not over, and the sequel is begun, so, hop on over and read the first chapter of 'From Out of the Shadows' which is up on my profile, in which there has been a (short) time skip. **


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